


An Unexpected Development

by LillyBaaaka



Series: An Unexpected Development [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Humor, Master of Death Harry Potter, Slow Build, until it gets serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 100,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillyBaaaka/pseuds/LillyBaaaka
Summary: Harriet Potter had given up hope on maintaining a so-called 'normal' life. So when the expected unexpected happens, why's she so annoyed? A story told in pieces.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Spock (Star Trek)
Series: An Unexpected Development [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781230
Comments: 100
Kudos: 519
Collections: Great Harry Potter Crossovers





	1. Huh?

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be slow building and drabble-ish in some places without regular updates. This is also more an exercise in cleaning out the plot bunnies nesting in my head. No planned pairings at the moment and all the standard disclaimers apply. This story currently has over 30 chapters written (90k+ words). I will likely post as I edit them until I catch up.

Harriet was at something of a loss. She didn't know where she was or how she got there. She didn't know why a man in a strange uniform was yelling at her. But most of all, she didn't know why he was yelling at her, in English, with a heavy American accent.

And it looked like rain. Her right eye began to twitch.

Not a minute ago, she had been standing inside her favorite bakery fiddling in her bag for an elusive set of keys. Per usual, she had her extra hot 'surprise' tall (as in large) latte, sugar (as in equally large bakery item), and a general inability to manage sipping said beverage while juggling breakfast, keys, and her phone.

At some point she looked down, phone on her ear, narrowly missing the doorpost, to search through her satchel on her way out

… only to look up and find herself in the middle of a deserted intersection.

She dropped her phone, looked right, looked left, and generally stood looking like a fish out of water. The stranger (an officer?) kept yelling, eventually dragging her out of the street, and down the road a few blocks. He pointed to several signs as he passed them, his tirade gradually reducing itself to angry mutters as he realized she wasn't paying attention.

They stopped, he hurried off, muttering several choice words under his breath. Still dazed, her mouth began to work but no sounds came out.

Eventually, she snapped to. 'Where the hell am I!?' She did a small spin, unconsciously bringing her coffee in close to protect it. Belatedly, she began to franticly look around for the stranger. She couldn't remember which way she had come.

And her coffee was getting cold.

She took a long pull on the dark liquid, taking comfort in the taste. 'Peppermint mocha. Not bad.' She took another sip, then parked herself on the curb.

'Where in Merlin's name am I?'


	2. So Sudden

This wasn't the first time she'd found herself suddenly transported to a new location. Far from it. In fact, it happened so often it wasn't really all that surprising anymore.

That didn't mean she was prepared at all times. Well, actually, she was. More or less.

Anyway, that wasn't the point. No, the issue was the shear suddenness of the whole thing. She didn't know how or why it happened and she never knew the destination before she got there. It always just sorta happened. To say the least, it was starting to get on her nerves.

The first time she had been frightened, desperate to find a way home. The second and third times, hopeful she was finally on the right track. The third and fourth, she may or may not have despaired.

Then there was that time she suddenly found herself in a gorilla suit in the middle of a cornfield. Followed closely by the time she suddenly found herself skinny dipping in the ocean (luckily there had been a raft nearby). Once, she'd even had the pleasure of meeting a green furbie looking thing that had the strangest fascination with her broom…

By the time she had stopped counting, she was just happy not being chased, worshipped, attacked, prodded, interrogated, stranded, overly cold, overly hot – and so forth upon relocation.

The thing was, everything looked okay. 

There had to be a catch. 

When was the last time people had looked like people? The last time she'd heard English? Not Ye Olde English, but something resembling proper English? Merlin's hat, she was in an actual city!

On top of it all, things were actually going pretty well so far, considering she'd fallen out of bed less than thirty minutes ago. She still had her clothes. She hadn't been attacked, trampled, arrested, fired at (by spells, arrows, shotguns, etc), and she was in possession of all her limbs (this had only been an issue once but still). Her bag was in one piece, nothing besides her phone was missing, and it wasn't raining (at least not yet).

For someone who hadn't even had her morning coffee and didn't know where she was? Not too shabby.

She sighed and frowned into her cup. Her brain still wasn't completely up and running but experience subconsciously reminded her body that panicking wasn't the answer.

How was she supposed to deal with suddenly needing to re-orient herself, establishing a new identity – with mustering the urge to care in general – when she couldn't even process what time of day it was? 

Why was it taking so long for her to get herself up and running?

More importantly, did this place coffee? Tea just didn't do it these days…


	3. Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Thinking'
> 
> "Speaking"

So appearances could be deceptive.

To begin with, she was in the US apparently, not that the earlier accent hadn't given that away. San Francisco to be exact. At least – that's what the rather loud woman who'd walked by had said. Where in San Francisco? She wasn't quite sure yet. 

She was still a little dazed.

The thing was, she'd been in the French-ish speaking countryside less than half an hour ago. She hadn't tried apparition since the end of the war, hadn't been near anything resembling floo powder in years (centuries, if she was honest with herself), and unless someone had learned how to turn her coffee cup into an international port key without her knowing, something besides the random (trans-dimensional?) travel was off.

Usually these things had a pattern to them. A certain amount of time passed. The last place wouldn't look or feel remotely like the next place. This was different. This San Francisco felt familiar. The people, humans, looked familiar. The various technology, though different, wasn't all that dissimilar to that of the last. So something about the pattern had changed or was in the process of changing.

Something other than the fact there was a green, scantily clad woman hanging on the arm of an otherwise normal looking guy. She tilted her head, quirked an eyebrow, and followed the pair with her eyes as they walked obliviously down the street. It wasn't entirely new but, well, it certainly didn't happen every day. Or would it? 

Sip, savor, swallow, bite, chew.

Another difference that convinced her this wasn't her San Francisco – not that she'd ever been before. 'A plausible future?' An interesting thought, one that she would dedicate precious brain cells to later.

At the moment, the other eyebrow was joining the first. A blue - 'Person? Surely not' - with - 'are those antennae?' … joined the previous couple in a decidedly comfortable manner. Decidedly comfortable. 'Well, I'll be … Hmph. So, liberal society. Or at least pretty open.'

She stretched her legs out in front of her, took another sip of coffee and a bite of her '- Danish? Hmph, pretty good.' 

Her bottom was starting to go numb from sitting so long on the curb. In fact, her neck was kinda getting tired too, all this swiveling back and forth in an attempt to process all the new *cough* sights. So she took to staring straight ahead while the coffee slowly worked its own unique magic.

Eventually, another thought filtered past her slightly less sleep muddled (and very possibly still overloaded) mind. 'The city itself seems off too.' She just couldn't put her finger on it. Why did the city seem so different (and when did she stop considering the whole being randomly displaced thing different and off in and of itself?)?

She looked out over the futuristic San Francisco landscape. 

Sip, savor, swallow, bite, chew.


	4. Spilled Milk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Thinking'
> 
> "Speaking"

Sip, savor, swallow, bite, chew – ponder. That was a good word for it. Harriet was pondering.

She was back to the original question: Where was she? The area she was in was still mostly unoccupied. The overcast sky may very well have played a role in that. Still, the place wasn't entirely deserted. She could see some kind of central square off in the distance, filled with what appeared to be more uniformed persons.

A few of the passersby on their way to the more populated area were looking at her funny. Some were even staring. Not that she was worried. In fact, she barely noticed the small group leaving the building in front of her or their general lack of concern for others around them. The part of her brain that was mentally cataloguing her surroundings wondered if this was related to her lack of uniform. Maybe she should get one? From where? Which color? The red seemed more prevalent of the lot…

Mentally, she shook her head. She had more important things to consider, to ponder.

'Right then, recon first, shelter second, then food.'

The priority lay with learning more about how dangerous her new environment was and how to blend in. She was in a city, cities had markets, markets meant ready food sources, ready food sources meant less foraging, less starving (painful much?), lower chance of getting eaten by the locals. Ditto on shelter; it could easily be found or made, given all the resources at her fingertips.

Then there was the possibility of this being a plausible future for her to consider/ ponder. Was it a magical society? If so, would her magic work? If not, how would it impact her magical core or her ability to access it? Prior attempts down this path in other places had led to various results. Her magic had changed after that first little skip through what she assumed was time and space. She really didn't even need a wand so much anymore as intent and control and a good sense of morality and curiosity. On the first two, she just didn't know what she could do anymore until she tried. On the last two, well, let's just say a few tough lessons had been learned.

'There are plenty of colors between white and black, why stick with one or the other?'

Focus. Cautiously, she searched out her core. Good, it was present and shining with an intensity that had long been missing. She would probably be able to do more in this existence than she had in the last few.

'Hopefully I can find that list I made on things to try out a while back.' Not that she wouldn't be trying EVERYTHING out (AGAIN!) for safety's sake. 'Merlin, this is getting old.'

Harriet felt like pouting. Maybe she would. Either way, she let her magical senses expand into the environment around her. The unique charge she had since come to associate with the British magical community of her youth was absent.

'Huh. All non-magicals then?'

This was big and it could very well cause problems. She had no reason to put much stock into secrecy laws per se but no one liked being turned into a science experiment. She mentally tagged the issue for further consideration after a deeper investigation into her new surroundings.

She was almost fully functioning now. Almost. Enough to register how close the group of youngsters had gotten when she considered pushing her senses further out. She quirked another eyebrow.

'Youngsters? Really? Merlin, I'm getting old.'

And she was. Not that anyone could tell by looking at her. Or would dare tell her as much to her face. At 5'4, Harriet was nowhere near the leggy beauty guys tended to idolize or dream of. She looked to be somewhere in her twenties, lean, not entirely fashionable. Exercise and time in the sun had tanned her skin and given her otherwise thin frame a discreet layer of muscle she hadn't had when she was younger. Her unruly jet black curls were pulled and pinned back haphazardly into a sloppy bun, nostalgically held in place by her more or less useless wand. One of her wands at any rate.

One of the youth, wearing a uniform that seemed similar to the stranger from earlier (she'd been too dazed to note any details), laughed loudly, not paying attention to his general surroundings. If he had been, he may have seen her. As it was, he nearly kicked her in the face when his excitement drove him to become more animated. He lost his balance, "AH!" 

Harriet had enough time to mentally scoff.

'Was he skipping? That looked awfully like he was trying to sideways skip.'

She reflexively twisted out of the way, narrowly missing the offending appendage and the male's less than graceful fall. On the way down, he bumped his female companion, causing her to drop her books, just as his own possessions began to fly from his hands and a few from his pockets.

Slowly, her look of mild amusement (who trips over themself that hard?) transformed into one of absolute horror.

"You…" Her voice was low, disbelief lacing every word. " No…" Forget pouting - Harriet looked like she was about to cry. 'Why is it always me…'

There, lying on the ground, crushed beneath the weight of … 'that punk!' ... was what was left of her coffee. Lady Harriet Jamie Potter, former savior of the wizarding world, vanquisher of the darkest, most feared wizard of an age, was reduced to stammering over spilled coffee.

Needless to say, the twitch was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story moves forward. Key concepts: slow building and drabble .. ish.
> 
> By the way, ever managed to pull up the prohibit sign on a mac? Not fun, nope, not fun.


	5. Multitasking

Now is as good a time as any to point out that Harriet may very well be a little too attached to her coffee. It may not even be a stretch to imply she might be addicted or, at the very least, chemically dependent on the beverage. Wouldn't you be a little, and I do mean a very little, attached to your daily fix if it were the first thing remotely reminding you of home since who knows when?

More importantly, have you ever seen someone who may or may not be (but most definitely is) dependent on his or her coffee when someone else takes it away from them? Not a happy moment.

Harriet, as it happened, was now livid. Sputtering forgotten, she turned on the three strangers, eyes wide and full of accusation.

"How DARE YOU! Do you have any idea what you've DONE!"? Verbally assaulting uniformed personnel was perhaps not the best reaction to have when you're quite possibly a literal undocumented alien. Nonetheless, she indulged in the outburst. If nothing else, it was good stress relief.

The three people before her, all dressed in identical red uniforms, took a moment to be stunned before responding almost as poorly as Harriet. The only female in the group, a platinum blonde, became particularly defensive.

"Who do you think you are! And what are you doing sitting right where everyone can trip over you?" She was getting loud. "You're a hazard and - ."

"What'da mean hazard?! He clearly wasn't paying attention and fell over his own two feet!"

"If you hadn't assaulted him - !"

"Assaulted him! I was sitting, innocently catching my breath," which wasn't not true, "when your oblivious friend nearly kicked me in the face!" Her fists clenched at her sides as she visibly tried to calm herself. It seemed her magic was more inclined to react to her emotions here. She could feel it roiling under the surface of her skin. She'd have to watch that...

The blonde's uninjured companion joined in from the side of his friend. "No one near about breaks their shoulder from just falling," he said through gritted teeth.

Harriet's eyes became fierce as she whipped her head around to stare at the male. "Are you a doctor?" She took his silence as a no - not that she'd really given him a chance to respond. "Then how would you know he nearly broke his shoulder?"

Without giving the man enough time to respond, she turned her fierce gaze directly on the offending partly. He was smartly still maintaining his silence.

"Did you break your shoulder? No, you didn't. Why? Because you would have been in a lot more pain and unable to move it properly." 

Now was also as good a time as any to start trying out the effectiveness of her spellwork. She cast a silent, wandless, diagnostic spell aimed at the guy's shoulder without raising a finger, followed in quick succession by an equally silent episkey – just in case. "As it is," she drawled sarcastically, "you're perfectly okay and suffering from nothing more than being embarrassed in front of your mates." Not that her spell had told her as much. Harriet simply had an eye for assessing damage to the human, and not so human, body.

The boy/man in the red uniform had the decency to blush. Wincing slightly as he sat up properly, he tried to get his friends to back down. "It's true, Karen. I'm not hurt. I just landed wrong is all."

Karen didn't back down. She and Harriet had locked eyes, neither one willing to let the other 'win.' There was some debate as to whether this fiery streak came from her mother specifically or happened to just be one of those gryffindor traits she'd picked up at school. Either way, Harriet would continue multitasking.

Her war-honed survival instincts had kicked in once the woman had raised her voice (she looked human at any rate). One part actively sized up the threat from the three before her and warned her about the level of attention they were drawing from the sidelines.

Attention could be bad. However, the three in and of themselves didn't seem to pose an immediate threat. The uniform had to mean something, something that gave the girl a sense of entitlement. The clumsy, inattentive one, no more than 20 she guessed, seemed to expect Karen's behavior but wasn't interested in a fight. His brown eyed, brown haired companion, didn't seem more than mildly annoyed on behalf of his friend, who he'd already helped to his feet.

The part of Harriet still locked in a battle of wills couldn't resist the urge to speak. "If you're so concerned for him, why don't you actually try helping him then." Karen was nothing more than a ball of self-important, self-righteous, fake blonde hair dye wearing - Harriet forced herself to stop. A curious sensation passed over her as her magic felt like it was about to jinx something – or someone. 'Definitely got to watch my emotions then.'

The other two walked over quickly, almost bodily restraining Karen from answering with her fists. The coffee cup destroyer's unnamed friend spoke first. "Look, I'm sorry. If everyone's alright - " Harriet took the opportunity to also try a revised point me spell. She was looking for some form of identification, something she could modify. " – then, we can all just go about our way." He gave her an irritated look.

Once again, Harriet couldn't resist. "What about my cup!" What if they didn't have coffee? The man looked like he was about to let go of Karen's shoulder. By this point, she was practically growling at Harriet. None of them actually bothered to look at the object.

Harriet made a big show of taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself. The spell had found something and she wanted to move the item away before they noticed. 'Inside the coffee cup? What if they pick it up?' No, the chances of them offering were pretty low. The chances of anyone noticing the card's short trip into her cup while all eyes were on the theatrics? Even lower. She mentally summoned it.

"You know what, fine, whatever." Folding both hands across her chest, she sniffed in an irritated, overly self-important, manner before turning on her heel to retrieve the no longer empty cup.

There was a moment of general disbelief. Karen once again made as if to go after her before her companion pulled her back. "Come on, let's just help Carl get his things. Civilians aren't worth it."

Harriet waved a hand over her shoulder in a dismissive fashion, casually walking away from the trio. 'So the uniforms are military.' She took a moment to consider the results of her spells, 'or lack thereof.' The results were inconclusive at best. She hadn't received any feed back from the diagnostic spell but given how upset she'd been, it could've just been her lack of conviction. With the episkey spell, her anger shouldn't have mattered as much. Then again, it didn't necessarily heal soreness or mortifying embarrassment.

Suddenly, the silence registered. 'Why'd they stop moving? Why's it so quiet?' Just as her head whipped around, the trio started moving again, along with the few onlookers who had been following the exchange.

The one named Carl sheepishly apologized to an only marginally annoyed Karen. "Sorry for knocking into you. I guess I just got carried away." The two guys started gathering up Karen's books and the other loose items strewn about. 'Whaa…'

"Really, Carl, you need to pay more attention." Harriet wasn't sure what to make of the exchange, so she continued to pretend to inspect the state of her cup from a short distance away. "One day you're gonna hurt someone."

"Oh don't be so mean to him. It's not like he hurt you or anyone else."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Karen subconsciously attempt to flip her hair. Harriet never understood why girls with their hair up always tried to do that. Really, your hair won't flip if it's bound to your head people!

Focus! She discreetly took a look around. No one was paying much attention to the trio or even her. Harriet sighed. She couldn't tell for sure but it almost seemed like they'd all been confunded. 'Maybe a variety of a notice-me-not?' If so, she would have to be more careful with her hand motions on top of her emotional control. She would also have to see if mentally saying the spell worked better or worse than strength of intent.

She continued to make her way towards an even less populated area. Remembering that red uniforms equaled some form of military service, she decided it would be best to find someplace where the uniforms were not. She emptied what she assumed was the identification card she'd summoned into her leather satchel. She would investigate it and transfer it to the mokeskin pouch hanging from her neck later. For now, she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself.

"Wait." Harriet halted. "I was not aware anyone at the Academy possessed such capabilities."

Merlin bless - now what?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...


	6. Discoveries, Pt I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Tact

Harriet spun on her heel. One. The other had just snapped.

'Merlin's bloody pants!' This was getting out of control. She was turning into a walking cliché. In less than fifteen minutes, things had gone from annoying but tolerable to frustrating and looking worse.

Grinding her teeth, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at her temple. The slight feel of the faded scar beneath her fingers finally brought her back to reality and she looked up tiredly. "Yes? Can I help you?" 'This better be good.'

There was no doubt the speaker had been talking to her. The man was standing less than five feet away, staring directly at her, wearing, go figure, what appeared to be the exact. same. uniform.

'These people really need to learn how to express themselves better.'

She gave the man a quick once over and revised her initial assessment. He was male, of that she was certain, but a man? Probably not. First off, there were the ears. Far too pointy to be human. 'Is he…' Irrelevant. She let the question slide and continued her assessment. There was a slight greenish tint to his skin. It wasn't an over whelming green, like the female from earlier, but it was still noticeable. Almost like it was the color of his blood as opposed to the color of the skin itself. 'Interesting.' The next thing she noticed was his near perfect hair. 'Is it naturally like that? Wonder what he uses - ' Also not important. Chugging right along, she noted he was around 6'1, 6'2 – and in possession of a pair of eyebrows that even Snape would admire.

She took a moment to admire their doubtlessly unintentional expressiveness.

And, of course, his uniform, all variants of which she was beginning to harbor if not hate, then a strong, near passionate dislike for. Her admiration waned. 'Coffee killers…'

"As I stated, I was not aware anyone at the Academy possessed such capabilities. Are you a student here?" he asked.

Her eyes widened slightly. Crap. 'What does he know? What does he mean by 'capabilities'? Can civilians even be here?! Should I pretend to be a student?' No, she'd learned that lesson already. Claiming any affiliation prior to knowing the EXACT implications equals no go (don't ask - we're all better off not knowing).

In an entirely too polite manner, she blandly asked, "To what capabilities are you referring sir?" 'That's right, don't panic, act natural, totally normal, you're not some caffeine deprived, borderline hysterical, slightly emotional, potentially abnormal, definitely guilty -.'

The male's eyebrow rose ever so slightly, cutting the spiral short. 'Man those things are intimidating.'

"I am referring to what I must presume are your telepathic abilities. I approached with the objective to reprimand the Ensign for his conduct and inform him of my intention to report his behavior to the Board for corrective action. However, his sudden change in behavior and the manner in which all persons within the immediate vicinity ceased activity for approximately 7.82 seconds would suggest an unconscious, if not forced, shift in perception."

He paused, his eyes still boring into Harriet's. 'Well, that answers that question.' She remained silent, hoping he would provide some clue as to a plausible explanation without carting her away to some top-secret lab.

With no answers forthcoming, he continued in the same direct, almost clinical, manner. "Given my general inability to affect such changes in behavior, your ability to remain in motion, and the nature of the interaction before the anomaly, it would be logical to conclude that you were the source."

'Anomaly?' Not good. The magical 'vibe' was still absent from her surroundings. If this guy was part of the military, his observation of 'the anomaly' could spell disaster. On the other hand, he hadn't gone crying to the hills. If his unemotional reaction was anything to go by, he could very well be accustomed to such sights, just not here, on 'the Academy.' 'The Academy of what?' Not an immediate concern, although it was getting closer to the top of the list (the last time she'd heard of a place called "The Academy" there had been ninjas involved...).

Still, if similar 'capabilities' were normal, maybe something similar enough to magic existed for her to hide behind? She cocked her head to the side. You know, the longer she stared at him, the more a part of her really wanted to ask that original question… She imagined the male in front of her was getting impatient. She had to imagine because his face seemed as unchanging as his monotone. He clearly expected a response.

… Not to mention his eyebrows alone were beginning to make her feel inadequate.

"If you can refute this assumption, then you should do so at this time."

Well there it was. Harriet mentally snapped to attention. Time to take action. Right.

Obliviate! No?

Confundus! 'Whaaa?' Magic when she doesn't call on it, no magic when she does! 

Now, she felt like stomping her foot (but she looked ridiculous enough as it was, standing there silent with only one heel and her brow furrowed in concentration). In less time than it would have taken to cast another spell, she considered her options. She could run. But where would that get her? And how far could she really get? Could she risk apparition before getting a real hold on her magic? In the end, she settled for trying the verbal, and (even more) visually absurd, route first.

With all the intent and will she could muster, she pointed at him and firmly stated aloud, "Obliviate."

… Nothing.

"Confundus."

… Not a twitch. 'In for a knut, in for a galleon as they used to say.'

"Wing-GAR-dee-um Levi-O-sa." She huffed in disbelief. NOTHING! 'Well call me a hippogriff and sla- Wait a minute!'

She lowered her hand and struck a (clearly just as ridiculous) contemplative pose, re-evaluating the man – no, male - before her. The earlier thought had wiggled its way back to the foreground. 'If he was, it might explain why my magic isn't working on him…' After a moment, Harriet looked back up. She had to, he was simply too tall.

It began to rain. Drizzle, really. Actually, it was definitely closer to the standard San Fran layer of mist that generally invaded whenever it felt like it. Wasn't so much rain as beads of moisture. Didn't matter, it was one drop of moisture too many for the frustrated, ready for the next cup of coffee, entirely too tempted, somewhat fed-up, and now thoroughly distracted Harriet. She just had to ask the question. It didn't matter if it wasn't the sort of question you asked someone you just met, who clearly wasn't human, and who may very well try to arrest you and take you in for questioning. She had to ask.

So, summoning her Gryffindor courage (or succumbing to her Gryffindor recklessness – either or), she did.

"Are you an elf?"

Tact and subtlety had always been more of a Slytherin thing anyway.


	7. Discoveries, Pt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: Fascinating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the time line will not be significantly speeding along for a while yet. There will however be a style change, at some point, away from mostly drabble-ish to … something … not … mostly drabble-ish…
> 
> 'Thoughts'
> 
> "Speech"
> 
> [Internal voice/ narrator/ conscience speaking]

A part of Spock, a part that shall be fondly referred to as Spock's Eyebrow, ever so dearly wanted to twitch. Given the sentiments of the owner however, it settled for moving only a fraction of an inch - perhaps less - higher. Anything more would be a clear demonstration of his (brief) surprise and, dare we suggest, incredulity.

Spock, The Whole that is, took this (brief) moment to collect himself. It would not be appropriate to give into his emotions (and really, even if he did, he wasn't sure if he was perturbed, confused, surprised, angry, all of the above, all of the below, or actually just plain ol' fashioned fascinated - Humans, ya'kno?).

The human female before him did not appear … typical for her species. She was dressed neither in a Star Fleet uniform nor the clingy materials seemingly favored by female cadets while not in uniform. Indeed, even in uniform Terran females had a tendency to reveal more skin than the female of unknown origins before him. Instead, she was dressed in a simple flowing garment that reached just past her knees and a light covering, both with simple embellishments that were not displeasing to the eye. The restraint in both color and extravagance had an oddly calming affect on his Vulcan sensibilities.

[The Eyebrow wondered if it was capable of raising an internal eyebrow at Spock's subconscious reaction. Sensibilities huh?]

He was sure she was wearing what was generally described as a dress, though it bore similarities to what females sometimes referred to as a tunic … or perhaps it was just a long shirt? The complexities of Terran female dress escaped him.

Not that he found the topic particularly appealing or relevant to the performance of his duties. Or even the situation at hand.

[Eyebrow: Not. at. all.]

Yet it had not escaped his notice that the entire ensemble seemed organic in nature. Even her footwear (what remained of it) seemed to be woven of some material not readily known to him, not replicated or mass-produced.

'Fascinating.'

Perhaps she could be convinced to submit them to study? He considered which protocol would be appropriate for making the request.

He would need to ascertain her origins first. If she had indeed been trying to communicate using archaic language, he had not understood her meaning. Of course, it was possible English was not her preferred mode of communication. There were several Earth communities that persisted in preserving their cultural heritage by emphasizing a different linguistic tradition during the earliest stages of compulsory education. Yet her accent did not match with any Earth dialect he had yet encountered. There was a slight hint of an English accent, yes, but she spoke as if she had not spoken the language for some time or had perhaps acquired the skill from a British national.

With some reluctance, he conceded his lack in expertise on the matter and resolved to seek a more qualified individual to question. He was mollified with knowing for a fact Latin at least was (still) a dead language.

The words however were important. On this, both The Whole and The Eyebrow expressed their confidence. She was more than likely trying to replicate the event from earlier. Perhaps the action of verbalizing was meant to aide in achieving focus?

Humans were typically unable to manipulate psionic energy without external assistance and had a low awareness of psionic energy in general. Telepathy amongst humans who were not hybrids was thus exceptionally rare. Was she part Betazoid? Perhaps she had utilized some form of device?

'Fascinating.'

He was unaware such a device yet existed. And where did she keep it? How did she activate it? Would she be adverse to his examining that item as well as her clothing?

[The Eyebrow considered raising an eyebrow at this but decided Spock was simply too busy being fascinated to understand the meaning behind the action]

In the inconceivably short amount of time it took for him to consider all of this, the woman in front of him, for lack of a better word, deflated.

'Fascinating.'

He finally understood how the term could be applied to one's physical appearance. Human. Physical Appearance. If she was human, to which there was a 98.4 percent chance she was at least a hybrid, her appearance would also reflect her mental status - a status he had yet to ascertain.

Past interactions with Terran females had also taught him questioning her mental stability directly would not be well received.

Was this a human display of fear? His time amongst humans would not suggest that such an action would be abnormal. It was very possible she was externally reacting to an internal manifestation of emotion.

'Intriguing.'

… Perhaps the device was experimental, in which case, he was obliged to bring it to the attention of his superiors. There were other options -

"Look, I really can't think like this. I'm lost, confused, its raining," it wasn't, but Spock wisely chose to keep this bit of information to himself "and I can barely stand. Can we at least discuss this somewhere I can sit down and not feel like you're about to cart me off to some lab and dissect me?" Her accent was made more evident during the now clear display of emotion. Exasperation, he believed it was called. Or was it irritation?

"That is not my intention." Her reasoning was sound and the request was not unreasonable. He didn't quite know how to handle clear displays of human emotion (for all that he still found their various combinations and manifestations fascinating). He brought himself to his full height and gave the slightest of nods.

"There is a location that will serve our purposes nearby. I will even be able to supply you with some tea. I have often observed its calming effects."

Her face reflected an emotion he could not properly name.

'Fascinating.'

* * *

Harriet stared blankly ahead, mouth open wide, eyes watering. Honestly, she was torn between being relieved at the thought of finding a more discreet location to rest and distressed at the reminder of her loss. Eventually she worked her mouth into asking, "Is it far?"

"Approximately 0.276 miles from our present location."

"Right," she said in a small voice. Rallying, she gave a brief, determined nod before bending to remove what was left of her shoes. For a moment she contemplated putting them into her bag. 'No, don't want him to observe anything else that may be classified as an anomaly' … like an undetectable extension charm. O~r a featherweight charm. Or the fact that the satchel was really made from dragon hide, moved like dragon hide, and was only charmed to look like something the locals wouldn't think twice about. Which was apparently leather. How … Muggle.

She settled for carrying them and squared her shoulders. "IF you would lead Mr~?"

"Spock." 'No rank?' He was giving her a look that said she was being assessed. 'Probably calculating my flight risk.'

"This way." Hands still clasped behind his rather straight back, he began walking. Harriet kept pace - for the most part (Merlin, his legs were long). Her survival instincts told her keeping just within his periphery would help soothe over some of the worries about her disappearing suddenly. Every little bit counted at this point.

"As to your previous query, I am a Vulcan."

"A what?" 'Were Vulcans a subset of elves?'

"A Vulcan." 'Talkative, this one is.'

"And I suppose that means you're from Vulcan."

"Indeed." 'Couldn't even give a simple yes?'

"Have you ever met an elf?"

His eyebrow twitched. "I cannot profess to such an encounter." Harriet resisted the urge to pinch her nose.

[The Eyebrow wished it were capable of snickering].

Fine. She could play this game too. She began to pointedly glance at his ears every thirty seconds or so, bare feet unbothered by her inattention. As they continued walking, a few passersby sent them a glance or two of their own.

After two full minutes of silence, she caved. "Does everyone from Vulcan look like an Elf?" 'Was that a stutter step? Ha! It was!'

"I assure you there are several races throughout the Federation who possess the attribute you are inquiring about." 'Don't tell he's sensitive about it. Maybe it's just a pride thing. I certainly wouldn't be quick to claim Dobby as a cousin. Specially not to a stranger.'

Two more minutes passed. 'How far was this place?' Harriet had to assume they were almost at their destination. They were approaching a tall but somehow less imposing building than the one she had seen with all uniforms coming and going. If she had to guess, the building either wasn't intended for student use or the upcoming entrance wasn't often used.

"May I make an inquiry of my own?" They had just reached a set of sturdy glass doors with a strange symbol emblazoned on them.

'Why not? I've already learned some (read: a very _miniscule_ amount) new information. Appearing helpful and compliant may soothe over any ruffled feathers (Merlin knew the hair wouldn't dare to even consider ruffling).'

As the Vulcan entered a passcode to presumably allow them access (something the multitasking side of her made note of), he seemingly considered how to word his question. At least, she assumed he did, the elf, or ah Vulcan?, no male (because he still hadn't given her a direct answer), displayed the emotional range of a suit of armor.

He held the door for her. "Are the ornaments attached to your ears edible?"

Harriet's eyes brightened with mirth as a wry grin graced her mouth. "Vegetables, actually." She stepped through and the heavy doors closed with a click.

"Fascinating."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ever wondered how often Spock actually says fascinating?


	8. Discoveries, Pt III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part III: Starwhaaa?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to consider: Given how long Harriet may have been traveling and what she may or may not have had to face in her unknown number of years, is it really all that far fetched to think she may be splintering around the edges?

Harriet sat crossed legged on the ground, elbows to knees, slim fingers interlocked beneath her chin. Ultimately, she'd had to concede the round. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to play the waiting game with him ever again. Or any game really that involved Spock where she wasn't completely aware of the rules or the boundaries or the pieces or the species or the meaning behind all the different uniforms –

'Why in Merlin's name are they color-coded anyway! Who ARE these people?!'

Well, she could actually answer part of that question now, thank you very much.

To begin with, Mr. Anomaly's name was Spock. He was not human. He was a Vulcan, from Vulcan, wherever that happened to be. While he was not an elf (Harriet still had problems accepting this), he was a Star Fleet officer, wearing a Star Fleet uniform. Within this Star Fleet, Spock was a Lieutenant. Lieutenants were some form of junior officer but not Ensigns, although Ensigns were more junior than other junior officers. The three from earlier had been Ensigns, which ranked lower than Lieutenants of any sort but higher than cadets and crewmen. Harriet used this knowledge to deduce the Star Fleet was some form of government sponsored armed service – most likely naval given all the references to Ensign this or Ensign that.

Then there was Spock, who, as it happened, was not the type of person who told falsehoods. No, he had not lied to her. He had not taken her to a lab to be dissected. He had in fact assured her, "carting her off to a lab to be dissected" was against the Star Fleet prime directive (Harriet felt the air quotes were absolutely necessary, but we digress). Whatever ' _the_ ' Star Fleet prime directive was or was not, being a literal alien apparently wasn't going to be as much of an issue as being an undocumented one. Hopefully, she would get a chance to fix that (the sacrifice of her coffee deserved nothing less).

Moving on, Spock claimed, and currently maintained, that she was "safe" (air quotes!). He, and now others, merely wished to know more about her abilities. If he did not know the nature or extent of her abilities, he could not properly report or reprimand the three Ensigns who were wearing red uniforms. Junior officers and red uniforms apparently went hand in hand – until her trip through the building had also shown her that Junior officers could wear blue uniforms when they weren't busy wearing the red ones. Well, Spock had addressed the male as 'Ensign' anyway.

The material point however was that he had done so shortly after he had brought her to what turned out to be a holding facility. Harriet was quite certain it was a holding facility too. Nothing says holding facility like being led into a room with only one exit and offered a seat in a lone chair and a sad excuse for a bed only for a shield of some sort to spring in place after you take a seat. Definitely what one might at the very least call a 'cell.'

To Harriet's credit, she hadn't walked directly into the holding cell. No, she'd had a solid ten or fifteen minutes of gaping here and there while Spock indulged her (himself in wonder at her wonder) and then gone to the holding cell. Not that she wasn't expecting something of the sort but, Merlin help her, the Vulcan's perfectly unaffected manner was infuriatingly misleading. If he had attended Hogwarts, he would have been a slytherin. She was sure of it.

'Green blooded elf.' (His blood had to be green. Upon further inspection, she was sure his skin wasn't itself green, something underneath it was). 'Great, that's even better, he probably actually bleeds green.'

And now he was sipping his tea – TEA – from a seated position in front of her with that completely neutral expression and those simultaneously infuriating and intimidating eyebrows.

Her green eyes studied his face intently. Really, she'd never known how expressive someone's eyebrows could be until she'd met Spock. For the time being though, they were the only things giving away any hints. She decided that while the overall execution of his 'not taking her to be dissected but confining her for further experimentation/ interrogation' was quite brilliant, she didn't care for it. Or the tea – TEEEAAAA – that he so kindly provided for her.

To Spock's credit, he did say he could supply her with tea and a location where she could sit down out of the rain (which she was also ready to concede in full hadn't been very rainy rain anyway). So, once more, she couldn't say he'd lied or misled her. He'd merely withheld information.

'Bloody giant green blooded snake like elf.'

Simply put, Harriet was annoyed, both with herself and with him. She had met non-human, non-magical creatures before. She was even comfortable living with them to a certain extent. He was perhaps the first non-human, non-elf living in an apparently mostly human society she had met, but that wasn't too far fetched. She could adapt. She could even adapt to living in a society based strictly on science. Been there, done that (mostly - avoidance strategies may have factored in greatly).

She was even planning to, ah, acquire a set of those Star Fleet uniforms when the opportunity presented itself to aid in the process. Even though they looked terribly uncomfortable. The female uniform was probably too short to boot too, if the society was truly as liberal as she suspected it to be.

'Why do militaries put their female members in skirts anyway? Sure, no one mistakes you for a bloke but, really, it's not like you can run in those things. Might as well be running nude by the time the skirt hikes up, some o' 'em are so short. What if there's an emergency? Or a surprise attack?'

No, Harriet was more annoyed that she couldn't really stay annoyed with Spock. Of all the other annoying issues presented by her current situation, the fact that she actually admired the Vulcan in front of her was the most upsetting. It implied a lot more than she was willing or ready to deal with.

Spock continued to meet her gaze without wavering. He clearly wasn't in a hurry.

'Must of contacted his superiors when he went for the tea (tea!) or spoke with that Ensign. Well, let's see how this plays out then.'

She was actually fairly certain this whole holding cell nonsense was someone else's idea. Spock seemed more the type to ship her off to a lab as a personal science project than one to lock her away for military grade interrogation.

Besides, while Harriet was admittedly terrible at the tactfully asking questions and patiently waiting for answers game, that didn't mean she was incapable of withholding information – or even *cough* acquiring it without permission (merlin help her, she was going to be doing a lot of acquiring in the near future). Not that anyone needed to know that. Although she was quite sure Spock already knew or suspected as much if those eyebrows were anything to go by.

For the moment, there was only the one question circling in the part of her mind allowed to engage directly with Spock:

'TEA?! Really?! Dear Merlin, he actually went 'n made a pot of tea! Who is this guy?' Okay, that may technically count as two, possibly three questions but no one's actually counting right?

* * *

Spock's dark eyes rose from his cup to meet her intense green.

"Is the tea not to your expectation?"

Harriet considered him for a moment more before breaking eye contact long enough to finally accept the cup placed just on the inside edge of the energy field. Her magical senses were still tingling but she was pretty sure it was muggle technology. If her journey through the halls was anything to go by, Spock was the only real blind spot for her. Even then, he wasn't as much of a blind spot as, well, an anomaly. Her magic just felt – different – near him. 'Not quite absent, not quite all there. Or maybe it was there but different? Altered somehow to account for his non-humanness?' She put it down as another issue she would have ponder in more detail.

"Would I be correct in presuming that dosing, spiking, poisoning, or otherwise placing additives or unexpected substances in a drink offered to a confined guest who has yet to threaten you or your territory is also against your so-called prime directive?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You would be correct."

'How reassuring.' She pointedly waited a moment before taking a sip.

… It was actually pretty good… and British. So wonderfully, reassuringly British… Not that he needed to know that.

[Eyebrow: We do.]

They fell into a comfortable silence that Spock eventually broke a few slow sips later.

"I must presume from your silence that the tea is serving its purpose."

Harriet partially closed her eyes for a moment and made a slight guttural sound, a gesture that would have meant approval at a different time, in a different place. "So it is."

She was, in fact, feeling much better. The feel of solid earth beneath her toes during the walk over had been soothing. The cold floor beneath her and the Vulcan in front of her was not, but the smell and taste of tea from a distant past that she could only just remember was drawing her more engaged part farther away. Once more, there was silence.

"Then if you are rested, we shall proceed." Harriet, half-heartedly drawn back to the present, huffed.

"We, as in you and me, or we as in you and your superiors?"

The eyebrow was back in play. Harriet idly wondered what kind of workout routine he had it on…

"I am certain –"

"Enough of this." Spock rose smoothly to his feet, clasping his hands once more behind his back, calming making room for the new arrival. "Who are you and how did you get onto Academy grounds?"

Great, _ANOTHER_ uniform.

* * *

Spock had to remind himself that this was not entirely his concern. He was, in fact, only earth side because Captain Daniels had ordered him to take leave. In 10 hours, he would take a shuttle to the San Francisco Space Dock, where he would report for duty onboard the Artemis as a recently promoted Second Officer.

The female in front of him however was preoccupying far more of his attention than his mental preparations for his upcoming cruise required.

It had not initially been his intention to make her less inclined to answer questions. He had only wished to ensure she would not run away. While her ability to bypass the Academy's external security problems required attention, her actions thus far were not indicative of an express threat. There was a high probability she was as confused and lost as she said she was. There was also a possibility she did not know or understand her own abilities.

In other words, he was certain she was in need of a medical (and psychological) evaluation.

He had said as much to the officer on duty at the medical center while she was staring at one of the displays in the back entrance hall. He couldn't quite understand why he had been directed to escort her to a secure room for dangerous patients when directing her to the care of a physician or xenobiologist would have been the more logical route.

Now however he could see no quick or efficient method for recovering any ground he may have gained by providing her with shelter and tea. Gone was the female that Spock had observed sitting oddly out of place on the curb and the equally odd wide-eyed wonder she had displayed during their journey to the building's secure holding area. In its place was a warrior preparing to go into battle: face suddenly hard, she had quietly continued into the room without complaint, head tall, confident, and quiet.

She had reacted as expected to the tea and he had hoped to use her relaxed state as an opportunity to gain further information, preferably starting with her name. He was particularly intrigued by her lack of knowledge and general fascination with technology. As unfathomable as it was, all the evidence before him suggested she was not only 'confused' but also unaware of how to interact with a computer interface system.

Really, given this and her answers to his earlier questions, there was no logical reason to think holding this conversation in this manner was going to accomplish anyone's objectives.

* * *

"The Lieutenant says you claim to be lost. I find that rather hard to believe. Starfleet Academy is a very well known, highly recognizable name in a very well known, highly recognizable location."

Harriet's only response to the man was to raise an eyebrow of her own (a poor imitation of Spock's) before going calmly back to sipping her tea. Spock was one thing, but this, this was entirely different. This was working into a proper interrogation. She wondered how far she should let it go on.

"Are you implying all the Starfleet uniforms you saw when you bypassed security didn't mean anything to you?"

'He has to be some kind of ranking officer. Spock doesn't seem like the type to simply allow someone to intercede in his well calculated efforts.' She didn't doubt for a moment that Spock had been planning out their discussion from the moment he offered to provide her with tea and shelter.

"Why were you attempting to influence Starfleet officers?"

He was becoming decidedly cross with her. 'That might be an understatement.'

"Are you aware of how your actions can, and shall, be taken?"

Harriet shrugged, remaining silent. 'Besides, I wasn't trying to do what you most likely think I was trying to do anyway.'

"If you don't start cooperating, you could be sitting in here for a very long time."

'Growling and speaking, just when I was starting to think how terribly unoriginal he was being.'

"You could be facing serious charges with serious consequences!"

Still maintaining her silence, Harriet's eyes moved to meet the Vulcan's. For a moment, it felt almost as if, as if she were just on the edge of his shields, as if her magic were attempting to, well, not dive into the mind arts, but almost as if they were trying to blend with something. 'But what? Why does it even feel like he has shields? It didn't quite feel like this before…'

Her eyes moved back to the Uniform in front of her, cutting him off before he could voice his next threat. "Could be and am are two very different things." She narrowed her eyes. "Besides, I don't respond well to threats."

The man's nose flared as he grew angrier. "Who. Are. You? It's the last time I'm going to ask." She imagined she would be showered in spit if not for the energy shield. 'Hopefully, it will also be the last time someone sends you to do an interrogation. You're pants at it.'

"Good." Her steady gaze lost some of its edge as she smirked. "Your conversation skills leave something to be desired."

Apparently, that was the wrong (or right) thing to say. He stormed off, angrily speaking into some kind of communication device on or near his collar.

Spock was evidently intrigued enough to raise BOTH eyebrows at her. Harriet took it as a compliment. Then she smiled like someone who was about to do something they shouldn't and well knew someone was going to find it irritating.

"So Spocky Pocky," she sat up, grin almost feral, "tell me more about the Star Fleet? Some sort of special naval operations base?" 'They probably think I'm some sort of spy. Well, can't say I've ever really had a good kinda sorta relationship with a government. Why start now?'

His eyebrow, surprisingly, didn't raise but furrowed. [Eyebrow: more like cringed.]

"Your assumption is incorrect." Well, more like it contracted in the slightest of ways. "Starfleet is a deep-space exploratory and defense service maintained by the United Federation of Planets…"

(Spock actually continued on for a bit, no doubt doing a swimming job of recounting Starfleet history. As it is, Harriet stopped paying attention around about the word 'planets')

"Wait – Planets? As in plural?" The more expressive, not seemingly dangerous Harriet was back full swing. "As in, well, you mean Vulcan's not a city somewhere?" (It won't due to stutter Harriet!)

Spock visibly fought to maintain a neutral expression. "No. Vulcan is an M-class planet in the Vulcan system, a little over sixteen light years from Earth."

Once more, Harriet found herself fighting off shock. After everything else that had happened, what was meeting a green-blooded, non-human, not-an-elf alien from another planet? Even made logical sense right? Sure, if she could get pass one teeny, tiny possibly problematic thought:

Actual space travel? As in stars and phasers and space-time continuums and and and and large metal containers that can be left drifting out in the middle of no where for years and years and years until overly excitable men in little blue police boxes that don't exist come and rescue you and and and –

She'd rather kiss a nesting female Norwegian Ridgeback that was trying to kill her.

Needless to say, she was gone before he could finish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: How distracting yet useful italicizing actually is; Military ranks are confusing!; and Harriet had that one possible run in with the Doctor that drove her, and him, mental.


	9. Insights

When Harriet was done thoroughly overreacting, she fought to reign in her nausea and think around her pounding headache. 'Note to self: Blind, panic induced apparition? Hurts.' She'd known there was a reason she'd been staying away from it!

Eventually getting around the pain to review her mental notes, she decided she needed to tweak her priorities, and, just possibly, reconsider her diet (caffeine withdrawal clearly bore no relevance to her current situation). Right now she needed to get away. Somewhere secret, somewhere safe. And soon. Considering her headache and lack of knowledge of the surrounding area, the easiest way to accomplish that would be taking care of her lack of documentation first. Next, go over her backstory and trust she'd be able to make believable and consistent adjustments as necessary. Then, she'd quietly get out of the building - if she was still in the building.

She considered moving that last one higher up the list…

Looking around, a part of Harriet could only smile (grimace really) as she took in the water closet she'd apparated into. She thanked Circe and Merlin both for the wonderful convenience of landing her somewhere vaguely familiar and ever so convenient. She more than likely had someone else to thank but not everyone is comfortable being friends with a being universally feared. Circe and Merlin were great, if understandably unwilling, substitutes.

Besides, there were more comfortable and somewhat pressing issues to tackle. Like that ID.

Harriet riffled briefly through her satchel and pulled out the card, blatantly avoiding any thoughts of that aromatic, delicious, lingering, aphrodi~, right! Priorities! (coffee?) She shook her head sharply, and quickly regretted it (can we say headache?). The ID turned out to be pretty standard. The name STARFLEET in bold capital letters across the top, your obligatory awkward, borderline just-out-of-prison, 'you didn't say 3!' picture, name, what looked like a service number, that recurring logo from the front of the building, and the rank ENSIGN (nav~y).

She sighed at the amount of changes she would have to make. She just wasn't the 'Carl' type. And pretending to be a guy for long periods of time just required far too much effort. Of course, being Harrison had been fun and all but there were just some male traditions that would never make sense. She shuddered as a memory of distinctly red hair flashed through her mind. Far, fa~r too much effort.

Not that it couldn't be useful to be ambiguous. Now there was a thought.

She started riffling through her bag again. Her elbow had just knocked her coffee cup (when had it even gotten there?) off the uppermost narrow shelf meant to keep the handiest things handy when she found what she was looking for. The two items she needed weren't particularly extraordinary. The first was just a plain muggle wallet. Incidentally, it was the very one she'd been trying to detach her keys from when she'd suddenly found herself in … "San Francisco."

The second item was a small, nondescript black case, no more than six inches long with only an inch or so in depth or width. She opened it, moving her flying license to the back of the small deck of cards inside before quietly scanning her remaining choices. Would she be Harriet or Harry? Lily, Jamie, Evalina, or Evvana? She smiled, remembering the one (and only) time she'd tried to work Potter into a proper first name. Fun times.

Eventually, she settled on a name and slowly, carefully, began the process of transfiguring the ID and establishing some basic form of control over her magic. By the time she was done, she looked a little worse for wear but was satisfied. "Well at least it's better than psychic paper." Never knew when that stuff was going to work. Certainly wouldn't work against someone as perceptive as Spock.

Apparently.

* * *

It took awhile but eventually she managed to convince the owner of the small shop she was in that she had in fact NOT stepped randomly out of her 'bathroom.' She clearly had. Which, sadly, meant her control was not really as impressive as she'd thought it was. Maybe it was time to go back to using a wand? She really needed to get away and take some time to figure it all out.

Generally speaking magic was roughly 70% strength of will, desire, and intent. Thus, the unintentional manifestations generated by children. However, just as children grow up to become complex adults, so does your magic. Nuances develop. Skill becomes required. Instincts are acquired and refined. Emotions, curiosity, needs, and ethics begin to encourage or restrain development.

Then, there are personal preferences. Remember your first cup of coffee? It was bitter, terrible, and just not a proper cup of tea, right? Well then you discovered late nights, patience trying dunderheads, hangovers, third shift, how wonderful it smells with your freshly baked flakey pastry – suddenly tea is something you drink because you're British and it's almost culturally inappropriate not to (especially when the rest of the world thinks you ought to). Coffee becomes essential to your way of life. More than that, it starts reflecting your personality, your moods. Black coffee? Blonde? Spicy? Bold? Do you need a fresh press or a pour over? Drinking by the pot or by the cup? Ever reached a point where it doesn't matter that the pot's been on the burner for an hour? Developed as soft spot for ship engineer's sludge?

Magic is about as diverse. Or something. Right. Point being, Harriet's magic had developed preferences. Sure, overwhelming experience had brought a level of skill entirely unexpected for one of her age

[Harriet: *cough* twenty! ...

Narrator: … ish

Harriet: … give or take a decade

Narrator: stare…or two or three score

Harriet: (silence)

Narrator: continuing]

in defensive magics, leadership, evasion, communicating with various species – hostile or otherwise – and her appreciation for law, wealth, and politics.

Nonetheless, it was her love of flying and all things Quidditch that sparked her initial side interest in muggle natural sciences and the war that got her dabbling in medicine and anatomy. As her environment began changing, and the skills required to blend in continued to evolve, she discovered her natural affinity for understanding naturally occurring compounds and figuring out how an organism worked. Sure, she didn't always know the names or the muggle, sigh, scientific terms for why, but that rarely mattered to a sick patient who couldn't afford to pay a proper doctor or to the desperate researcher seeking a cure. It was actually somewhat baffling how much some were willing to overlook something that appeared to defy logic and the natural laws of physics so long as they, or humanity, benefited.

All told, skilled witch doctors (ha!) were therefore always in demand. Harriet personally found knowing as much rather comforting. Along with the cuppa she'd also managed to convince the woman she'd kindly offered her after realizing how wretched her day had been. After all, she'd been lost after a long day's travel, snapped her favorite pair of heels, had a sudden separation with a Starfleet officer, been yelled at several times by angry men, and had caffeine withdrawal to top it off - all of which was true.

So, armed with a tourist's map of the city, a fresh homemade cup of brew, and a cheap umbrella (totally unnecessary), the dimension witch (no, not that one) took a deep breath, stepped out of the store, and Went Left.

* * *

Spock encountered Harriet no less than three months later, standing still in front of a set of glass panels in a large treatment room. Beyond the panels lay a smaller, sterile medical room for patients undergoing intensive care. He watched as she slowly raised a hand and placed it on the glass, forehead slowly coming to rest on the pane before her as she watched the lone occupant.

After her disappearance back in April, he found himself regularly reviewing their encounter. The building had been placed on red alert. Security teams had searched the entire building and the surrounding area for any trace of the female. Spock hadn't been particularly surprised they couldn't find any trace of her passing. He had, however, been rather intrigued that the security footage failed to record both her entrance into the building and her actions within. The more he reflected on the experience, he was increasingly certain it was connected to her ability to somehow manipulate perceptions.

The security personnel had been at a loss to explain why a search was called for someone they couldn't prove was ever in custody. Spock deftly pointed out that while his erstwhile drinking companion wasn't visible on the footage, the disappearance of the second cup of tea was. Not to mention the few audio files where he was very clearly speaking and being responded to.

A few personnel may or may not have gotten a kick out of hearing the Vulcan referred to as "Spocky Pocky," but Spock trusted that his continued professionalism would discourage its regular use. [The Eyebrow snorted, er, right, yeah, well, he tried anyway…]

Exactly fifty-two minutes later, with both a sense of scientific fascination and duty, he'd found himself back on his way to gather his gear for departure, only occasionally considering which conditions might make her receptive of direct questioning and study (naturally only of the perfectly acceptable scientific type). Such thinking, of course, was contingent on a second meeting. He'd acknowledged that the probability of that was considerably low.

Spock had also meditated at the first opportunity his new duties had afforded him.

Then again, the probability of encountering her at the medical command research facility had also been less than 1 percent. Tilting his head slightly, he discreetly considered her profile. She was quiet and, at least to Spock, it appeared she was deep in thought. Her attire had changed. Not the cut and number of pieces but her long overshirt had certainly been a pastel green previously. Currently, what he could see of it beneath her black robes, was a deeper green [Eyebrow: Didn't notice].

Her frame was still lithe, her skin marginally lighter as if she wasn't spending as much time in direct sunlight. Her hair was as haphazardly pulled back as before (a Terrran female fashion?). The stick, however, was now balancing just behind her right ear and the pair of raphanus sativus were no where to be found.

More importantly, why was she here?

Eventually, a Dr. Boyce noticed his presence from across the room. There were, after all, only so many Vulcans hanging around Starfleet. He would have known if he was expecting one.

"Ah, Mr. Spock, how can we help you?"

"Doctor." Spock inclined his head in recognition. "I was not aware civilians were allowed on these floors outside of visiting hours."

"Ah, yes, generally that is quite true. However, the family requested the input of an ... alternative specialist. Given the circumstances, we allowed it." Spock's only response was an intrigued eyebrow.

Turning back to Harriet, he took a calculated risk and approached her, stopping when he was a proper Vulcan distance away. Spock, patient Vulcan that he was, could derive no logical reason not to make use of the data his prior encounter had afforded and settled to wait for her to react to his presence.

Doctor Boyce, needless to say, was mildly confused. About to make an attempt at explaining why the so-called "specialist's" presence didn't explain or excuse Spock's presence, he was interrupted by her speaking for the first time in the hour and a half he'd watched her observing the patient.

"So much pain." The intensity of her otherwise quiet voice surprised both of them.

'The accent has changed. She's attempting to assimilate?' As she removed her head from the glass, Spock noted that she looked tired, older. She closed her eyes. 'An empathic ability then?'

"He is being treated for a rare disease. One which we unfortunately do not yet have a cure for." The good Doctor doubted she'd even understand if he went into specifics. "Poor boy most likely won't make it through the week." Something the family had surely informed her of.

Harriet's only response was to raise the other hand onto the glass. "He will be well cared for."

'Will be?' In the short time that the two had interacted, Spock had learned to pay close attention to her words. He got the impression she generally chose her words with care. "I am sure that the Doctors and staff are providing him with the most optimal treatment." The distant look in her eye remained.

"Many things only prolong the inevitable Mr. Spock. In the end, are those who die to be pitied? Is it right to prolong life only to prolong suffering?" Her voice was neutral, detached, yet her facial expression and posture would suggest otherwise. Spock got the distinct impression she wasn't talking about the boy.

Boyce was too busy becoming livid at her apparent callousness to particularly care. "He's 11!"

Harriet turned to look the doctor directly in the eye. Her penetrating gaze was disconcerting and strangely heavy. "Death welcomes those who would greet her as a friend Mr. Boyce." She turned back to stare at the child in the bed, shoulders slumped. "And there are few in any existence who she will not greet at least once. We would all do well to remember and accept that."

'She? Why speak of death like a living entity?'

Head tilted to the side, Harriet quietly asked a question that Spock implicitly knew was not directed at her audience: "How long is long enough?" The disquiet about her was beginning to settle into something else, something more that he couldn't place (and wasn't that frustrating).

Clearly incensed, Boyce took a confrontational step forward.

Spock's equally detached voice cut him off before he could say anything more. "Your question also suggests that a long and fruitful life would be equally pitiable."

Harriet started and looked quickly at Spock. Honestly, she hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud. She considered his painfully correct posture for a moment before returning to her observation of the patient.

"My people are, or were, perhaps, themselves long lived. Long life comes with long memory and deep seated notions, and sometimes… that causes more harm than good." She sighed, then squared her shoulders and turned properly to face the doctor and Spock. "He is a child, yes, and for that I am sorry that he will not live to truly enjoy all that that should entail. I humbly give you my apologies. I simply don't care to see children in pain."

Boyce was far from placated. Spock, recognizing that it may not be acceptable to continue debating the merits of that particular discussion, took the opportunity to learn more about this 'alternative specialist.'

"You say your people. You are suggesting that you and the doctor are not of the same species?"

She made a point to raise her eyebrow at his use of a statement as a question. "You look like an elf. This would suggest that you are therefore an elf."

Boyce's otherwise stiff face twitched. He honestly didn't know what to make of the woman, much less of how she and the Vulcan were interacting.

"I believe the Lieutenant is attempting to inquire after your origins and qualifications." 'Something I'd sure as hell liked to know myself' went unsaid.

Harriet's face was slowly closed off again, her thoughts noticeably drawn elsewhere.

* * *

"The unplottable lands of lochs, dreams, and flights of fantasy, at the intersection of magic and loss." She frowned, then turned her intense green eyes back to the pair. She was far from having no reasons to panic (especially since this new reality, wherever or whenever it was happening, was far too reactive to her emotions and subconscious thoughts). As such, she had no use for attracting the attention of the military (again). Realizing that was exactly what she was about, she decided she had returned the favor owed and that it was time for her to be on her way.

"Doctor, Mr. Spock, I'll not continue to trespass on your time any longer." Merlin, was being polite tedious. "I'll be on my way."

Spock, rather unsurprisingly, took the opportunity for what it was. "My presence is not required elsewhere. Allow me to accompany you."

Now Harriet very clearly remembered the last time Spock had accompanied her somewhere. She had no intention of allowing that neutral expression get the best of her a second time. Then again, it might be easier to get the whole thing over with. Besides, there was no guarantee she would have the opportunity to establish a potentially friendly connection with the military again.

Harriet smirked ever so slightly before gesturing for him to lead the way.

She may 'f sorta kinda missed lil' ol' Spocky poo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As warned, heavier content. That being said, it's important to remember that Harriet's age at this point is unknown and the experiences she's gone through while keeping Death as a constant companion couldn't have always been sunshine and rainbows. Not to mention the whole child abuse/ child savior thing she had going for her during the first 17 years of her life. The next chapter should be lighter.
> 
> Prompts: obscure references; 'friends with the monster that's under my bed'; more vocabulary you only use for English classes and uni papers; search for a disturbing but Harrietesque nickname for Spock (I could stand some suggestions!)
> 
> Thank you for your kudos and comments!


	10. (Partial) Truths and Awkward Turtles, I

They had scheduled another meeting.

Aware that humans often used the act of consuming beverages as an invitation to speak on a topic, he had once more offered to speak with her over a cup of tea. Registering her carefully neutral facial response, he did not argue when she insisted that this time they complete their discussion at a place he was not acquainted with. She was a flight risk and if she took comfort in choosing the location of their discussion, then he was perfectly capable of handling himself.

When he learned that she wouldn't answer his more biographical questions, he merely raised an eyebrow and inquired about her preference for the establishment. This lead to the discovery of her (over)fondness for caffeinated beverages, how much she loved working at this particular shop, and yes, she was "documented." While she had produced valid identification, he quietly noted it was not the same Starfleet Identification card she … acquired … shortly before their first encounter three months, four days, fifteen hours, and forty-two minutes prior.

He also noted that her name was Hari Luna. A quick inquiry revealed the name was statistically neither common nor unusual. It served her well. Its use also did not seem uncomfortable to her. It was probable that the name was one she had used before.

He ALSO noted she engaged in initiating non-essential and unprompted exchanges of information for the sake of doing so. The logic of it all escaped him. However, his fellow officers assured him it was normal when dealing with human females, for all they appeared alternately perplexed or offended by his asking.

Indeed, over the course of the five days, nine hours, and twenty-five minutes since their second encounter, Spock hadn't come to know Hari as well as he would have liked.

The female with the strange triangular tattoo on her left wrist remained a conundrum and their small tea and culture sessions did little more than pique his curiosity further: she didn't know what a PADD was when he suggested acquiring one for her but she figured out how to use one efficiently and effectively in under ten minutes when he gave her his; she didn't know the intricacies of a modern science lab or the names of common earth diseases yet she could discuss pathology and immunology and how the processes of either varied depending on species with intelligence.

He also learned that she was partial to her dark, undiluted, extra hot morning serving of builders brew proper, and found himself ever so slightly, in a terrifying but not way [because we're Vulcan, thankyouverymuch!], pleased she was willing to put it off during their meetings.

Indeed, over the course of the five days, nine hours, and twenty-six minutes since their second encounter, he hadn't come to understand her as well as he would have liked but they were establishing a routine.

All in all, that small part of his mind that insisted on registering potential emotions found it, in short, confusing. But not.

He would need to meditate on this.

* * *

They were meeting for tea again.

Spock-friggin-tastic.

Tea. It was always bloody tea. What did Vulcan's have against coffee! It was wonderful. DE-vine. And his lovely Vulcan sensibilities had to be practically allergic to it.

Just. Great.

If it weren't for the obvious height and personality differences, she'd be inclined to think the bloody Vulcan was a goblin in disguise. Too smart and too shrewd for his own good.

'I wonder if goblins have green blood? Can't remember.' Amused in spite of herself, she quietly laughed at the Vulcan currently sitting stiff backed in front of her. Spock was, after all, above something as pedestrian and human as sulking. "You know, when you're done, we need to talk about this regrettable tendency you've been showing lately toward flagrant emotionalism…"

Naa, calling him a goblin was too mean. She'd never had this much fun teasing a goblin. Not that she'd ever dared to … you know, after the whole dragon stealing thing…

"I see no reason to insult." Spock turned to face her, still stiff as a board. "It was only logical for me to assist them." Was that a hitch?

'I do believe the lady doth protest too much.' Harriet mentally sniggered. "Yea, su~re. Except, they didn't request your assistance and could have completed their debate without your input."

"Your background is neither in molecular physics nor computer programming – "

"You know, your viridity is almost as entertaining as your denial." The fact that the suggestions (read: corrections) he had offered had at least sounded helpful and insightful was beside the point.

"I have not – "

"- the least control over your seemingly innate desire to put cocky human cadets into their place." Harriet shrugged. Everyone had their faults and it did seem to be a Vulcan thing. "It could be worse." Really, it was strange to see Spock dressed so casually in mufti. "Now will you stop brooding and tell me more about this place." Stranger still that he was still recognizable to any cadet roaming about this section of the Academy.

Spock paused ever so briefly, snickering eyebrow furrowed at Harriet in mild concentration. "I am unfamiliar with your usage of that term. I do not have a brood and must assure you that I do not view the cadets in that manner." He seemed almost flustered, as if not entirely certain he had offended her or unintentionally led her to the … wrong… assumption…

Harriet's cup nearly slipped from her hand, a light dusting of pink sweeping her cheeks, before laughing outright. "Really Spock! Of all the words I've used in the past five minutes, THAT'S the one you don't know the usage of." Merlin BLESS. Talk about awkward. "The term brooding is used to describe the emotional state of deep unhappiness. It is also used to describe someone who appears in a dark mood or so deep in thought they look menacing." Recognizing that the Vulcan would not appreciate being laughed at or corrected, she pointedly looked straight ahead, utilizing the neutral expression she used to convey 'seriousness' to Spock, desperately trying to calm herself.

Sensing Spock's ever so slight nod of the head she eventually asked, "Now, why here?" How had she not noticed this on her walk over? Why in Morgana's name did she not ask beforehand? "Somewhere frequented often by Starfleet personnel given its vicinity." 'And clients' went unsaid. She tucked a wayward black curl behind her round ear, grimacing at the thought of so much potential exposure.

They were sitting in a small, open café, by a window off to the side.

Uniforms and uniform types were everywhere. Darn Uniforms. If there was one thing she still hadn't adjusted well to, it was the concept of being surrounded by the government and uniformed members of any government organizations. So the place wasn't FULL of uniforms but there were enough short and trim hair cuts to put her and her magic on edged.

Spock was clearly becoming a rather unique exception. Any attempt to build a proper relationship with the other inhabitants of the city, much less her patients, had been, so far, rather bootless. Her paying patients tended toward blandishing everyone and anyone they could to get ahead and it was refreshing not to be around such shameless or sophomoric people. Her coworkers at her day job also had a tendency toward being quixotic, particularly the Starfleet hopefuls. At least they didn't maunder. Merlin help her, the introverts were the worst.

She blinked.

Silence.

Well, might as well get a second cup. She looked up at the menu behind the bar. "Your recommendation?" It was beginning to become something of a game, a 'learn something about me and mine through food' exchange.

"I recommend the Vulcan spice tea."

"Is there a reason you never recommend food?"

Spock looked vaguely uncomfortable. 'Huh, I wonder why?'

* * *

Spock had long since finished his first cup. Now, they were simply contemplating each other as Harriet enjoyed her second.

She was wearing a form of linen tunic dress today, cream colored and long with grey stitching along the edges, high neck, and full sleeves. She rather liked the cut as it felt like the seventies had met some fashion sense. It didn't do much to help her blend in, given her green eyes and the ever present, and unruly, shock of black as night hair on her head but it was comfortable and that was all that mattered.

Spock, on the other hand, was wearing a dark sweater and slacks. She could only call the vision it created awkward. There was no other word for it. His eyebrows looked healthy at least, and his hair was so perfectly in place and moisturized, both Malfoys would be jealous. No more green tint than usual. No apparent abnormalities.

So who'd he let beat him into that sad ensemble?! _Yeash_.

It didn't help Spock always appeared so stoic, his face borderline saturnine. Harriet mentally scoffed. Even masquerading as a Stoic, the Vulcan had a sense of humor. A strange one to be sure, but it was there.

'I wonder if it registers as such to him.'

Spock stood out by virtue of just being Spock the Vulcan, much as she once stood out for being Harriet, the girl-who-had-too-many-hyphened-names. Although, personally she felt like a catfish, luring in the unsuspecting *snicker*

'…. okaaay so the pun wasn't that funny. Riddikulus?'

The silence had to end. She didn't like silence. Too many bad memories involved silence. She knew it was going to come down to this anyway, might as well embrace it.

* * *

"You have questions." 'Might as well start with the obvious while I'm at it.'

"Many."

She sighed. As verbose as ever. "As do I."

"You have only to ask."

Fine. She lowered her voice. "Why should I trust a Starfleet officer?" 'Especially when we are having this conversation here.'

"It would be against the Prime Directive – "

"I'm human Spock. Different but still human. I fail to see how the Prime Directive applies." One of these days he was going to get tired of her cutting him off. She'd have to watch that…

Spock's response was quick but unhurried. "Your abilities are not consistent with any knowledge I possess of the human race. They are more consistent with the Betazoid population."

"They wouldn't be." A non-answer. 'What's a Betazoid?' They sat in silence again, Harriet casually sipping from her cup. Eventually: "you still haven't answered the question Spock."

"The Federation would not harm you."

"I'm not asking the Federation Spock, I'm asking you. And again, I'm human, not some newly discovered species. I was born in England." In a waaaaaay distant past/ alternate universe/ galaxy far, far away.

Spock briefly considered her response. It was, after all, the first time she had ever revealed something personal about herself.

"I am … curious." Trust Spock to be honest. 'Is uncomfortable directness a Vulcan trait or a Spock specialty?' "For the sake of science and the advancement of all species, I will remain curious."

"Yet it is that same curiosity that motivates my caution. Both curiosity and fear of the unknown have led many to do things they would otherwise swear never to do."

"You are suggesting there is no acceptable counter argument."

"There is Spock." 'Friendship. Trust.'

She contemplated her tea before looking up again. 'Why does the idea of becoming Spock's friend, trusting him, bother me so much?'

"Let us settle for an alternative then." She studied his face for a bit before continuing. "I will tell you a story, you will ask no more questions." 'In some cultures, telling a story isn't telling a lie, therefore I'm not lying by either omission or outright fabrication.'

"That is acceptable." The 'for now' didn't need to be said to be understood.

"Well, it's not a story so much as a statement of facts relating to events that may or may not be inferred to have occurred." 'There, conscience, happy?' "My name is Harriet, feel free to call me Harry, with a 'y' or an 'i,' doesn't bother me either way." She smiled. "When we first met, I was trying to understand why I was in San Francisco." Fact. "The last place I remember being was Louisiana." Where some say they also speak French-ish. "I have memory issues." Partially true: some things she could remember, others she willfully couldn't. "There are days when I can't do the most basic things," like obliviate, confound, or levitate strange aliens. "Other days, I find myself trying to remember how to read and write" runes, proper English, my potions book, and my actual name for starters.

Spock's face remained neutral but she knew he was memorizing every thing she said. She was well aware he knew that she knew she was leaving "small" and very significant details out.

"Sometimes the information eventually comes back but not always." Score! Another fact. "This understandably has had an effect on how I've lived my life up till now." Sam Beckett had nothing on her. "I haven't been able to attend formal classes" in your school system "but I know the basics of how to get around" or at least she'd learned since she got here. Her satchel, moke skin pouch, and coffee cup have all played very important roles in this. "I've learned to survive." Ditto on the satchel, pouch, and coffee cup.

Looking out the window, she considered what else to say. She knew he wasn't satisfied with her answers such as they were. She also knew, through the general feel of how her magic interacted with him, that for the time being he would honor her request not to ask additional questions. It was enough for her. Spock had the makings of perhaps the closest thing to a friend she'd had in years. So, somewhat nervously, she continued.

"I really don't know how to explain the rest Spock. I'm human. Just not like other humans you've met." Talk about an understatement. Alien species from outer space? No. Immortal? Probably. Magical? Definitely. How many people out there can check all three of those boxes and not be certifiable? Harriet.

"To over simplify the complex, I can manipulate my environment. It's a skill that tends to get me in trouble even when I'm not looking for it. Just because I choose to turn that skill toward … alternative … medicine doesn't mean there aren't others who would seek to abuse it." Case in point: moldy shorts.

Harriet shrugged. "Now," she said in a louder voice, "how shall we proceed? I rather enjoy our little get togethers."

Spock was silent for a moment, his mind no doubt racing with possible answers and outcomes. If there was one thing she had learned about him in their short acquaintance, it was his ability to be constantly thinking, evaluating, and calculating. 'Again, is it a Vulcan thing or a Spock thing?'

"Allow me to escort you home."

'Well that was unexpected.' Harriet smirked. 'The sly Vulcan.' She idly wondered if he even knew how that could be interpreted. 'Probably not. It's not exactly a logical conclusion to come to.'

Still, it was an answer. The exact implications of it were yet to be determined but she fancied herself better prepared to play what she termed "the game" this time around.

Instead of responding verbally, she stood up and began heading toward the door. It took all she had to keep a neutral expression after she realized the shop was not nearly as empty as it had been, that Spock had made the last declaration loud enough for a rather shocked group of uniforms to overhear. Why were they staring? Did they know Spock? Was he that highly ranked? Or was it just the novelty of a Vulcan missing a cultural cue?

Well, if they were going to stare …

"Ever heard of a turducken Spocky?" Harriet moved to look over the café's selection of deserts.

* * *

Captain Daniels and his colleagues were, understandably, amused by and delighted to witness the ensuing conversation. A rather incredible rumor that Spock was dating mysteriously appeared shortly thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: obscure SAT words you may or may not have learned but haven't used since; Spocktastic; How Spock became a green-blooded hobgoblin (gradual build).


	11. Coffee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'thinking'
> 
> "speaking"
> 
> [narrator/ sub-conscience/ split personality (you decide) speaking]

One toffee flavored coffee bean. Two toffee flavored coffee beans. Three toffee flavored coffee beans, _four_.

There were only so many constants in Harriet's life. A loving family defined by blood relations certainly wasn't one of them but a loving family defined by lasting and loyal friendships was. Losing Teddy, Luna, George, Hermione, Neville, and Ron in a single blink without a chance to say goodbye or send a letter had hurt. It had hurt beyond hurt. It had hurt in a way that only losing Sirius, Remus, Fred, and the long long list of other self-defined family members had hurt. But that too, in a way, was a constant in Harriet's life.

Now, there is another constant in Harriet's life: change. She has a new home, a new job, new coworkers, a new gig moonlighting as a healer to satisfy her saving people thing, and apparently a new flavor of magic. Magic that liked her shiny new Vulcan too. 'Spock magic!' *snicker*

Her shiny new Vulcan who decided he really was a Star Fleet Officer and needed to disappear for six months, in space of all places.

SPACE.

Five toffee flavored coffee beans. Six toffee flavored coffee beans. _Seven_ toffee flavored coffee beans, more.

She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. She was attached. She honestly wasn't quite sure why. They barely knew each other!

Yet she was terrified she would lose him too.

* * *

"Enough!"

Harriet blinked owlishly at her employer. And it really was owlishly. She was wearing a pair of personality glasses that she was certain previously belonged to Trelawney.

"That's it. Out. I want you out. Take off your apron, go clock out, And. Get. Out!"

"Huh? But why?" The lunch rush at the café was over, sure, but there was still the afternoon pick me up crowd. Not to mention her coffee bean counting. There were always more coffee beans to count… to smell… to admire…

"I can't take another minute of you counting coffee beans! Not one!" The owner closed her eyes and visibly tried to collect herself. "Now either tell me what's bothering you or go take a hike and work it out of your system. Angela can cover for you." Harriet winced. Was she really that obvious? [yes.] And really, ANGELA? She didn't know dark roast from light if you didn't label it for her. 'I mean, they're so different. Merlin, the smells alone -

"Apron, off. Now." The owner had her hands on her hips now. 'oops.' "Angela will be here in 20 anyway."

Harriet sighed and slid off her bar stool. It was always only a matter of seconds before she caved under that look.

"The only real friend I've made since I've moved here was sent off with the military last week." She stretched. "I guess I'm just not sure what to do with myself."

"Well, here's an idea – go talk to that boy Ben down at Joe's." Harriet made a face but took off her apron anyway. "He's a nice young man, a doctor at that, and perfectly capable of keeping up with you – and not Vulcan."

Harriet winced. She knew her coworkers thought she was being standoffish but she really just wasn't interested in getting to know them. It had nothing to do with them personally. Harriet just wasn't a college hopeful, she wasn't a 20 something up and up on whatever the latest fashion was, she didn't know the lingo (and didn't want to), and she had reflexes and habits that she just couldn't explain. She just didn't fit.

Mrs. Thurston, however, was older. Not in a Mrs. Weasley way, but in a 'there's more to life than shallow pursuits' older.

Like getting a husband if you weren't going to at least attempt to get a college degree and planned on completely wasting your potential. And apparently, she knew she had potential, although how was a mystery. 'I'm losing my touch. Then again, maybe the whole Vulcan supposed best friend was the give away.'

"I'm not interested in boys." Harriet tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was wearing bottle cap earrings today; they kept catching at her hair…

"Then talk to his sister Mairi." Harriet nearly choked. "She's just as nice and just as intelligent." Cough. "And Not Vulcan." As if she were interested in SPOCK! 'Not like that anyway.'

"I'm sure she is. Doesn't change the fact I'm just not interested in dating anyone, boy, girl, or Vulcan."

"It _is_ that Vulcan, then? He's Starfleet, right? Well, does he have any grand plans, aspirations?" She didn't give Harriet a chance to answer. "Doesn't matter. I know darn well he has access to a PADD! So go video message him, if you're so hung up."

"I'm not hung up!" Clue one: uncalled for levels of defensiveness. "He's Star Fleet. I just didn't realize I'd…"

"Miss him? Exactly. So? What does counting coffee beans have to do with it?" Mrs. Thurston – and, yes, she would always be _Mrs_. Thurston – sighed. "Look, dear, I know you're different than other girls your age but you're moping like any other teenager would -"

"Moping!"

" – and you really just need to get out there and do something about it! Or try something new, distract yourself!"

"Do something about what? He's just a friend!" Clue number two: Teenage angst. [Shouldn't it be denial?]

She was treated to another look.

"And what types of things do the two of you do together?" Harriet gave her a confused glance, made all the more comical and innocent by the shear SIZE of her eyes with those Trewlawnies. [Trademark?]

Mrs. Thurston sighed and moved to make them both a cup of coffee. As the drip brewed, Harriet took the hint and sat on a stool on the other side of the bar. It wasn't until both of them were done with their first appreciative sips that Harriet finally spoke up.

"We meet for tea." She smiled at Mrs. Thurston's raised eyebrow. "Yea, I know, I know, but for some reason he doesn't like caffeine. I thought it had something to do with coffee at first and nearly had a heart attack but then I realized he always orders un-caffeinated teas…It's probably a Vulcan thing…"

Coffee was calm.

"I was thinking of maybe introducing him to decaf, as terrifying as that is."

Coffee was safe.

"I think I do miss him."

Coffee was constant.

Clue three: so was Spock.

* * *

It has been approximately six Earth months since Spock had met the woman (not girl) named Harriet and approximately three Earth months since he reported for duty on the Artemis as Third. Spock was genuinely concerned, and this worried him. Of course, he didn't know he was concerned or that he was worried. He was a Vulcan. He was part Human too, but he was also a Vulcan Vulcan and concern and worry didn't often register as such. No, it registered as a control issue. He was slipping, he was dealing in approximates. Perhaps he was ill.

Spock abruptly (but not) turned on his heel and took a direct path to Sick Bay.

Perhaps his long exposure to Harriet – the anomaly – had affected his immune system? No, he would have noticed before now. Surely. He had carefully analyzed and mentally annotated each of their encounters. There was nothing to suggest she had infected him. [scoff, infected you? With what? Does it even register how this could be construed?]

However, there was the slim possibility that she had. It was best if he reported to Sick Bay.

* * *

"You're fine Lieutenant. Any particular reason you would think otherwise?"

Spock was quiet for a moment. Did he have an obligation to report Harriet to his superiors? Technically, she was still a wanted person. She certainly was not human as he knew it. He was certain she wasn't a betazoid or any other humanoid species he could think of but if she was not entirely human, what was she?

She was harmless. Well, she was harmless in the same way a Vulcan was harmless. He did not doubt she could be capable of excessive and deadly force if pushed to it. For now, however, she was not being threatened and therefore had no reason to perceive him or Starfleet as a threat. He had worked diligently to lead her toward that perception. It would be imprudent to compromise the trust or respect she had for him. [or you for her]

"Just a precaution Doctor. I did not adjust as quickly to this voyage as I was expecting." He gave a perfunctory nod and headed out of Sick Bay.

He clearly recalled the way Harriet's presence brushed against his during each meeting. It was a sensation akin to the earliest touches of a mind meld, that moment just before contact was fully initiated. Perhaps, this is what was throwing his body rhythms off, this lack of consistent exposure? Was this a side affect of interacting with her so regularly? If so, what of others who were exposed to her presence? Did she interact regularly with others? She traded in alternative medicine: were her patients affected in a similar manner?

Spock's mind was becoming cluttered. How unusual. He would need to speak with his father on this matter. No, part of the problem was rooted in a human, it would best to seek advice from both his parents.

…

However, it would perhaps be prudent to speak with his mother first.

* * *

"Greetings, Mother."

"Greetings, my son, I am honored to hear your voice after so long."

"Your consent to hear me honors me, I thank you for your time."

"The same to you my son. Now, tell me about this trouble you are having."

"I am uncertain mother."

"Well, that is certainly unusual. But what is it that you are uncertain about?"

"The reasons for which I am uncertain. Over the last few months, I have experienced increased bouts of uncertainty and I do not understand the logic of it."

"Do you not? Surely you have some idea of the source of this uncertainty if you chose to speak with me first and not your father."

A brief pause, then: "I believe my uncertainty is centered around a human female that I encountered some months past."

Amanda BEAMED.

"Is that so, my son? Young females often inspire uncertainty in males. I am still uncertain as to why you have brought this issue to me and not your father." She knew why. [grandkids, come onnnnnn, grandkids!]

"As a human female yourself, I found it appropriate to seek a logical explanation from you first, Mother." [O, come on! How oblivious can you get?! She wants grandkids, like, today! Chop chop!]

"Describe that which needs an explanation Spock and I will do my best to provide one."

"I am… uncertain how to describe it Mother – it is more a lack of clarity, of control… it is … emotional in nature." [Bless your soul, Amanda – so calm, so cool!]

"Then I must ask what you are feeling Spock?" Silence. "What is it Spock?"

"I don't understand the question, Mother."

"You're half human Spock. It is natural that you may possess these types of emotional responses."

"I find the question irrelevant Mother. I am a Vulcan. I have done my best to follow the Vulcan philosophy and a way of life that is logical and beneficial. "

"It is not irrelevant when you're human too Spock. Let that part of you come through."

Spock remained silent.

"Perhaps, Spock, you might take this opportunity to develop a friendship with this young lady. A true friendship. It is both logical and beneficial to further your network of human relations after all."

Another brief silence. "It is as you say mother. Dif tor heh smusma."

"Peace and long life, my son."

* * *

Captain Daniels was amused. He was certain his Third was having some form of withdrawal. It was difficult to tell but you didn't spend this much time in an enclosed space with no where to go and not learn something about your crew members.

The best part was, the Lieutenant didn't even realize it. Heavens, the poor Vulcan. Whoever this girl was, she was working miracles and probably didn't even know it.

* * *

Lieutenant (j.g.) Donahue looked around the small café before moving toward a small table. He still couldn't believe he was here. Yet sure enough, there she was. A petite young woman, loose, flowing clothing, dark unruly curls pinned and braided into place, tan skin, leather satchel, and bottle cap earrings. The fact that Spock, SPOCK, had given him a list of her earning choices, and had been right, was somehow both typical and absurd. Actually, this whole thing was absurd.

"Excuse me, are you Harriet?" The young woman – 'early twenties maybe?' – turned her head from the window, gaze slightly distant. "I have a package for you from LT. Spock. He asked me to give it you, said I might find you here."

Harriet's eyes widened slightly in surprise before eyeing the Uniform and the package. Constant Vigilance!

"Come again?"

"Ha. Right, I thought the whole thing was strange. Look, I apologize it was probably just some joke –"

"No, wait, I know Spock, I just wasn't expecting anything from him." She narrowed her eyes, "he's away at the moment."

Donahue did not hide his surprise well. "Oh, well, yes, but he sent me a message and asked if I could deliver this for him?"

Harriet raised an eyebrow. 

"Well, actually, he said something else but the point was he needed something delivered and we knew each other well enough that he trusted me to do it for him." Donahue was visibly nervous at this point. She blinked at him for a moment before taking the package. "Well, do you know what it is?"

"It's a PADD... It's also already on."

"Yes, well, ah, he also had me set it up so you can contact him." Awkward, so awkward. "I can show you how to use it if you like?" Since when did SPOCK need a wingman?! And WHO THE HELL DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO USE A PADD!?

"No, but thank you." Donahue nervously rubbed a hand through his hair.

"Right, well, if you need any help with it, just comm me. I've included my contact info as well."

She nodded her head in a way so Spock like, it was mildly unnerving. Then he fled, the gossip following almost visibly in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: If chips are to Chouji as shoji is to Shikamaru, what is coffee to Harriet and Spock? Can they even be compared?; It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine; Use the phrase 'Spock Magic!'
> 
> (This story progresses through prompts/challenges. 36 chapters have already been written but there are still at least 3 to go, so if you have a prompt, feel free to suggest it!)


	12. (Partial) Truths and Awkward Turtles, II

Eventually, she took Mrs. Thurston's advice and took the rest of the day off to "ponder her options."

'It's not like that. I'm not sure what it is, but it's not romantic. It's more like I just miss him… and maybe so does my magic? How is that even supposed to work?!'

Harriet sighed; the whole thing was giving her a headache. And, now, so was Joe's. The place would no longer be the same now that she knew she was being watched.

[You're not being watched. Stop being paranoid.]

Harriet mentally scoffed. 'Says the voice inside my head.'

No, Harriet definitely did not want to go to Joe's right then. Instead, she went to what passed as home these days: a small abandoned shop she had converted into a pseudo living space. Well, converted wasn't exactly the right word and, well, neither, really, was abandoned; she did live there after all.

The shop itself was old and quaint, reminiscent of the London shops she grew up with (sorta, it's not like the Dursleys ever really took her shopping). When Harriet initially came across it in those first few confusing days, it was relatively empty (well, not empty per se but let's stop being technical). What little she could see through the shop window was all books: stacks of dusty old books, with yellowing pages and all the other tells of years left untouched.

She had loved it immediately, had been drawn to enter and explore and learn more.

That is, until she looked at the entrance and noticed the not so subtle mark engraved on the door: the mark of the Deathly Hallows was outlined in white, clear as day. At this point, she wasn't even really surprised. It was more of a bone weary acceptance that Death always found a way. That had been the first day she'd gone to Joe's Bar. For obvious reasons, coffee just didn't seem to be the appropriate remedy. Well, not plain coffee anyway.

The shop had been otherwise deserted so she had quickly converted the space to meet her needs, transfiguring a nice sized bed from a stack of old newspapers she found in the shop's loft and clearing spaces behind the initial dozen or so feet of stacked books to use as work tables, a cooking nook, and a small but cozy reading area.

She really didn't need much more. The first time she'd encountered one of these 'homes away from home' that Death so thoughtfully provided, she had done far more – only to lose it after her next jump. No, now both she and Death had an understanding: Death provided the basics to make her feel comfortable, to help her blend in, and to feel like everything wasn't forever lost to her. In exchange, Harriet didn't get too attached or settled in. Instead, she treated every new 'home' more like someone had changed the desktop theme, continuing to treat the locals to her special brand of 'holistic' medicine, and acting as Death on occasion needed her to act.

Yet, in the end, then as now, she'd still rather face the equally socially awkward green tinged Vulcan male than face her issues with the hollows. So, once more, she threw herself into fighting the good fight. She sat at her work table and warily faced off with the PADD. She'd be lying to herself more than usual if she didn't admit she was worried the volatile mix of magic and technology wouldn't set off a small fire.

As it happened, there was no fire and no explosion of Jubilee sparks to speak of.

Death always provided for its Master.

* * *

Mrs. Thurston found it all somewhat strange. Sitting down to have a pretend cup of tea with a PADD. Having video chats with a Vulcan up in space. Pretending as if she were drinking tea when all involved knew darn well it wasn't tea she was drinking. Well, at least now the poor girl wasn't try to hold it all in.

And yes, she'd figured out Harriet was barely more than a child; her mental maturity didn't change that, nor did the paperwork she brought in that second day to prove her age and identity. She couldn't pin down what had happened or why the girl still got skittish whenever she asked about her past but she knew something had happened.

It didn't really matter in the long run though. Harriet was good people and Mrs. Thurston didn't have the luck of meeting too many of those sorts on a regular basis (even if her own first meeting with Harriet felt a little hazy at the edges). Besides, she also knew darn well she had something to do with the shop's increase in business – tea business at that. Herbal remedies and extracts she called them. Sure. If that were the case she wouldn't be so selective about who she advertised these remedies to.

She had thought the whole idea rather off when Harriet first pitched it. But, well, the girl had been confident and the few sample cups she had brewed for her had been rather terrifyingly effective at soothing her joint aches.

She had tried to convince Harriet to make larger quantities and to place her items on the menu or at least put them on display but she always insisted there was a right 'tea' or 'essence' for the 'right' customer and any mismatching could be 'detrimental.' So they stayed in a locked tea box 'for freshness' under the counter, only to come out when Harriet was on shift and the 'right customer' happened to walk in and 'happened' to have 'just the right number' of credits.

Mrs. Thurston had never really believed in 'alternative' medicine before but now… now, she just wished she could use some of those same calming teas or bathing salts to keep her blood pressure down.

"Hi Spocky Pocky. Thanks for the PADD, it took me awhile to figure it out. I was told to remove myself from the Shop yesterday, something about forced time off. Has that ever happened to you?" Pause. "Of course it has. You work too much. It's called free time, not study time." Lengthy pause. "I personally have no reason to believe that I have a problem but Mrs. Thurston, the owner, thinks that I do have a problem." Harriet leaned in closer. "It may just be the years catching up to her."

 _Slam_.

"Oops. Too loud." Pause. "Yup, totally unrepentant."

* * *

Harriet once more ever so not discretely set the small café table as if she were chatting with Spock at any other of their 'tea-time' meet-ups. On this particular occasion, she had a slightly stronger brew of liquid courage: a mocha latte with latte art, first brew. Beautiful. She just knew the first sip would be worth the wait.

The shop itself was still closed as it was early yet but here she was, ready for her now near weekly chats with Spock. Ever since her last mishap, she'd decided it was better to volunteer to open the shop and to have these little relays earlier in the day.

"So what is the crew like these days?" Lengthy pause. "I wasn't asking you for a lengthy run down of the facts." Pause "I'm well aware, however, I was asking indirectly how you were getting along with them." Pause. "It is not irrelevant. The facts are colored by circumstance and context. Facts alone are only useful when you're seeking an unbiased opinion." Pause. "The fact that gem was both culturally and monetarily valuable alone is not sufficient to understanding why the crew reacted as they did." Pause. "Yes, your responses are predictable. Stop dealing firmly in facts and that bit may just change." Pause. "I know, check mate in four. I've already devised a possible solution."

'And they say Vulcans didn't have emotions. If only they knew just how wrong they were.' Harriet took a sip of her coffee.

Harriet had been doing her research: she new quite a bit about Vulcans these days. She was even thinking of enrolling in some of the Vulcan language classes. 'Should probably get to that sooner rather than later.' But she also had those biomolecular physiology books she was going through…

'Soon,' she thought, then relayed her next two moves.

* * *

Captain Daniels wasn't sure what to make of his Third. Professional, certainly. Stoic, beyond a doubt. More emotional than he lets on, very likely. If he didn't know better, he'd say he and Number One were competing.

Beyond that, well, there was this whole business of him having a possible girlfriend and never mentioning a word of it!

Of course, he didn't know if his Third was actually involved with the girl. Although, that was actually the problem, wasn't it? No one actually knew if he was involved with the girl and, if so, to what extent.

He'd been surprised to receive the small file on the girl, Harriet as she called herself, when Spock had been transferred to his ship. Apparently, Command had yet to determine if she was a threat. She had some form of gift or mutation (depending on how you looked at it) that had allowed her to pop in and out of the Academy grounds some months ago. It had since been deemed some form of accident, but the fact she had managed to do it at all put them on edge.

That and the fact they didn't know who she was, where she came from, what she was capable of, and what her intentions were.

After what happened when she'd first appeared, it had been agreed to quietly use Spock's tentative overtures of peace when she'd popped back on to their radar to observe her from a distance. When attempts to follow her repeatedly failed, they'd even gone so far as to monitor her and Spock's weekly conversations, gathering as much information about her as they could and cross referencing it against any public records they could find, which were few and far between and wasn't that alarming in and of itself.

Only the basics existed. Name, age, date of birth, and an immunization record. No place of birth or hometown listed. No parents, school records, or operational permits. The most frustrating part of course being that those records only showed up _after_ she'd reappeared at the hospital _weeks_ after they'd tried to use facial recognition to find her. The fact that they knew she lived in the city and couldn't figure out where was a close second.

Suffice it to say, even with Spock's efforts to draw information out of the girl, the amount of hard facts they had gathered was still rather sparse.

It was enough, however, for him to determine the girl was relatively peaceful. She may be involved in some form of backward alternative medicine nonsense but it seemed each of the people she helped was grateful, if tight lipped as to the particulars.

Starfleet simply had no grounds to bring her back in for questioning without violating its own standards. Not that some of the higher ups weren't pushing for it regardless.

At the moment, reception of outside communications was relatively limited. As a result, many of the crew were sharing communal stations to send and receive messages and to chat with family back on Earth.

"- then, my client actually had the nerve to criticize my methods!" Huff. "Moving on, I take it the crew is being most unreasonable again?"

So now, for him, it was a question of whether or not one of his crew was in danger and, if so, was a special person of said crew member being threatened?

* * *

"My mother will be visiting Earth with my father. She has requested a meeting with you."

"Oh? Did she provide a reason why?"

Spock's eyebrows inched toward each other ever so slightly. 'Consternation.'

"She wants to know more about you."

'Wait, did he just admit to speaking about me to his mother. Oh no, oh no no no no nonononono. NO.'

* * *

Amanda's first impression of Harriet was that she was only physically young. There was something about the way she found every exit when she entered the shop that only added to the slightly haunted look about her eyes.

She briefly wondered what had happened to the girl, Hari, as she called herself, to cause such grief, then pushed the desire to mother aside.

Amanda's second impression of Harriet? That she was a better pick than T'Pring. She had a way about her that vaguely reminded her of Spock.

'Perhaps she's picked up some of his mannerisms?' That implied that they were closer than she was quickly coming to realize they actually were. 'So they really are just fledgling friends then. Dear me.'

Harriet also vaguely reminded Amanda of herself when she'd first met Sarek. So new to Vulcan culture, vaguely overwhelmed yet comfortable with it nonetheless. Then she found out Harriet had started to study the language, said she'd found a book on it of all things.

"How have you found it so far?"

"Difficult but no more difficult than any other language so far."

"And you have learned many other languages?"

Harriet paused. "Not many and near none that are currently useful."

"I am certain you are underestimating yourself dear." Amanda sipped her coffee. Spock had mentioned Harriet was fond of the beverage when she had asked for particulars.

"I believe it prudent not to overestimate my skills as they are." Harriet's head was ever so slightly cocked to the side, her strange 'they keep the Nargles away' earrings glinting in the sunlight.

"Spock doesn't seem to agree. He's not the type to give praise where praise is not due." Well, 'praise' probably wasn't the word he would use but Amanda was well practiced in the art of liberally translating Vulcan into Human Standard.

"Spock may not be the sort to evaluate skills unfairly but he is not so skilled in evaluating the dispositions of others."

Amanda could only blink. 'Dear me, this will take some work.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Nothing is sure in life but Death and Taxes; Spot the Doctor Who reference; Cupid's Got A Shotgun (Carrie Underwood)


	13. Outtakes and Filler

**Paint**

The paint on Harriet's nails was peeling. She didn't generally wear polish but a fancy for it struck her late last night. She idly wondered if Vulcans ever felt the need to paint their nails . . .

There really was no logical reason to paint one's nails. Perhaps for the sake of various perceptions of beauty and beautification but really one was either beautiful or not beautiful and it was all really a matter of perception, not yes or no. Perhaps this was the beauty behind the Vulcan mindset: either things were or they were not; there was simply no need to worry over the levels of something as abstract as how beautiful something was or was not, only a need to determine if something was appealing or not appealing. Social perceptions of what was appealing appeared to be more action based and wasn't that hard to wrap one's head around: beauty as a matter of logical or illogical.

Really, as a whole, Vulcan culture was rather captivating – difficult to follow at times but that only made it all the more interesting.

Maybe she should repaint them a sandstorm kind of red…

**Happenstance**

Joe's had been one of those gem discoveries that locals generally kept to themselves. It was one of those places where you could come in, grab a drink, and be left alone while still somehow knowing who everyone was. Of course, she didn't know who everyone was by name but that wasn't the point.

The point was that 7 O'clock always came in at 7 sharp, ordered a whisky dry, sat on the far left side of the bar, and proceeded to glare straight ahead at someone who wasn't there for the next hour.

The point was that Ms. Sex on the Beach always ordered something else first, decided she didn't like it, then ordered a Sex on the Beach to wash away the bitter taste of whatever fancy interstellar concoction she'd tried the first time around.

The point was that the bar tender followed the golden rule of all true bartenders galaxy wide and _asked no questions_.

Harriet loved it.

**Jupiter**

Jupiter was the King of the Gods, of the Sky, of Thunder, and of Light, brother of Neptune, source of the symbolism behind the Roman Eagle, so on and so forth. Enough said.

Now, lesser known was Janus, god of beginnings and endings, gates and doorways and keys, of transitions, and of time. _Time_.

Then there was Mors, or Letum, (the personification of Death) and Morta (the cutter of the thread of life) and Libitina (the goddess of death, corpses, and funerals) and Viduus (who separated the soul from the body after death). Together and then some, they were Di Inferi – the gods of the underworld. Not enough said.

Not nearly enough said.

It begged the question: why was it so easy to personify a King, a leader of Gods and men, but not Death? For some reason, death as a whole took a village and as Master of Death, where did that put Harriet?

**Purple**

There was a lot that could be said about the Starfleet ships. For one, they were large. For another, they were rather drab. Grey was a beautifully utilitarian color, sure, but all grey? Unnecessary. Good steel of course was naturally grey of a sort and carbon composites, epoxys, resins, and whatever they used these days to make ultra light Starfleet vessels sleek and space worthy weren't naturally all bright and sparklely.

The occasional engine light aside though, it was just too depressing [and so was the lack of friends and family].

Not that Harriet imagined Starfleet had a need for a bedazzled starship. Still, the enemy blip would pick up the Starfleet blip long before anyone actually _saw_ the other vessel so why not put a nice racing stripe or two down the side?

Surely a nice splash of purple wouldn't hurt?

[It would certainly take the mind off the pain]

**Felicity**

"Intense happiness" was not the phrase Harriet would have used to describe how she was feeling at the moment. Agitated was perhaps the more appropriate expression for this latest batch of circular thinking.

Spock had been gone for over five months and, frankly, she was torn. She enjoyed her work, sure, but other than silently, and rather petulantly while she was at, running interference with Death where she could, what was she doing with herself? Why did she feel as if she were missing something important, something big?

Did she need a hobby? No, she had a hobby (coffee!) and a job that allowed her to indulge in that hobby. She even had a secondary job that allowed her to indulge in her secondary (sometimes primary) hobby of 'saving' people. Really, she had a lot already on her figurative plate. So why did it feel like something was missing?

'Only three more months…'

… Only three more months until Spock was back on Earth.

**Batten**

It was like her magic wouldn't stop eating. Or, well, it was hungry and Harriet couldn't pin down what it was hungry for. There was also this sense that it wasn't Harriet's magic per se that was craving something ... _more_ but that other part of her magic she coped with and did her best to ignore. Ever since her magic had merged with an aspect of what made Death, well, Death, the feel, the flavor of her magic had changed. There was an undertone now that was so uniquely grey and heavy and _there_ and at times it made her weary.

And uncomfortable, so so uncomfortable.

But this was different. This new, constantly moving, searching, hungry undertone was linked to something else. In moments of honesty, Harriet admitted it had something to do with Spock and how her magic had rolled against him whenever they met up for tea. In a moment of stunning clarity she even noticed her magic had a similar reaction to Amanda, just not quite as strong or as ... satisfying as those moments as when she was conversing with Spock.

Unfortunately, Harriet didn't like being honest with herself and Death was far from amused.

**Kelp**

Sea Weedies. That's all that kept going through her mind. Sea Weedies. They looked like _Sea Weedies_. Not that Harriet planned on saying as much to Amanda but dear. _Merlin_. was she having a hard time keeping it all in!

She was having coffee (thank Circe) with Spock's mother at the Vulcan Embassy. Amanda had only been on Earth for a few days, and would only remain for a month all told, but she and Harriet were already on good terms. There had been an awkward bit were Harriet realized she'd learned a bit too much about Vulcans but they'd gotten over that hump with relative ease. Now, she and Amanda had plans to keep up their afternoon coffee sessions once or twice a week.

Harriet lost the battle and promptly began laughing a nice, full-hearted laugh. This was what she was missing. This sense of something more, of Family.

**Cow**

"He who lets the goat be laid on his shoulders is soon after forced to carry the cow," or so they say. Harriet had learned that particular saying was more or less true the hard way. As a result, she generally found she no longer had much of a desire to volunteer, to be overly curious, to investigate first and think later. No, these days she was still curious but recklessness had taken too great a toll on her to be acceptable. It was one of the reasons she was so careful when forming attachments.

Yet, nowadays she'd also come to depend upon 'tea time' to remind herself of herself, of Harriet, and of Harriet's humanity.

She had to wonder if she'd ever truly put the cow down to begin with.

But this went back to Harriet being honest with herself and in spite of Death glaring at her, she was going to think about something else, something like –

"Excuse me, did you say we're having Vulcan mochas?"

**Cranium**

Harriet was just about done with her book on Vulcan anatomy and physiology. She wasn't sure precisely where it had come from. One moment she was working in her potions area, refreshing her knowledge on the proper usage of essence of comfrey, the next she was staring down a physiology book trying to remember where she had placed her potions text.

She was starting to get the impression that Death was trying to tell her something.

Even if he/she/they weren't, it had been a good read so far, full of interesting facts and the latest information (or so it advertised). There had been a lot of new terminology however, so she'd spent a near day learning to use the various research functions on her PADD. In the process, she'd discovered that you could take some of the lower level Academy medical classes for audit. She'd need a sponsor but the thought of having more hands on experience with some of the more modern techniques and technology was interesting, perhaps even, dare she say it, fascinating.

**Copacetic**

Spock was back.

Somehow, everything was as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 10 random words


	14. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'thinking'
> 
> "speaking"
> 
> [narrator/ sub-conscience/ split personality (you decide) speaking]

It took three days after the Artemis docked before Harriet was able to meet up with the Vulcan. Apparently it was standard procedure for a ship's Third to stay back with the Captain and other high ranking crew to ensure the ship was properly installed and undergoing the correct repairs. But what was three days after just over eight months?

… which, by the way, was _three_ months longer than she had planned for!

For a moment, Harriet had been worried he wouldn't receive 'shore leave.' The worry had ultimately been needless; Spock had been granted up to two weeks to 'take care of his personal business' on Earth. Harriet figured that generally meant he had two weeks to catch up with friends and family. As it was, she knew for a fact that Amanda wasn't on Earth and that Spock didn't have friends as such. So, she arranged her schedule to fit his and planned on making him spend some non-Starfleet time with her instead. Spock, gentleman that he was, hadn't tried to dissuade her. Much.

Now, here she was, waiting for him in front of the Spacedock connector terminal, like an errant schoolgirl.

'Calm down already. It's just Spocky.'

Harriet nervously ran a hand over her Vulcan inspired beige tunic, smoothing wrinkles that weren't there before taking a deep breath and stilling herself. It was Spock. Just Spock. It didn't matter that he wore a Uniform (yes, it still deserved to be capitalized!). It didn't matter that she'd made a near profession out of avoiding said Uniform. What mattered (and what scared her) was that somehow everything was ever so slightly _off_ without him. And now he was back.

Harriet exhaled.

It was just Spock.

[… wait for it…]

O, who was she kidding! It's Spockity Spock Spockit! Spock was BACK! [why are you so excited?] Naturally, they'd been communicating via PADD for _months_ now but SPOCKY POCKY was home! [coffee?] Now they could have _proper_ conversations, with a proper 'cup of joe' as they say. [this soo isn't about coffee partners, you know that right?] NO MORE strange video letters! [you're hopeless, stop avoiding the topic!]

Right. Well. Now that she'd gotten _that_ out of her system… The inner-maybe-there-maybe-not-voice had a point. Why was it such a big deal that Spock was back planet side?

* * *

Harriet waved as Spock came into sight, bouncing on her toes, black leggings peeking through the slits at her sides.

They exchanged the traditional Vulcan greeting, as Spock preferred. Then:

"Welcome back. It is good to see that you are safe and whole."

"The voyage was successful."

"So you have stated. Still, I worried for what you did not say. Do you want to drop off your gear first or go directly to the shop?"

"I will go to my quarters first."

Harriet nodded her head, tucking a stray black curl behind her ear and Vulcan rock earrings. This felt right, this, whatever this was, felt natural, even if she was dropping into some Vulcan speech patterns.

Plan in place, they headed toward the exit and the waiting hover car.

The last thing she heard as they walked off together was a slightly disbelieving: "She does exist."

* * *

"I'll wait downstairs while you go up."

They had not said much during the short trip as both understood there would be plenty of time for talking when they were settled at the shop. Harriet herself was perfectly content to sit and enjoy the passing scenery. Spock, naturally not inclined to speak when there was no need, was equally content to not engage in the human habit of 'banter' or 'small talk.'

When they arrived at Spock's quarters, Harriet made a mental note of its location. The knowledge would certainly be of use, particularly seeing as it was surprisingly not located on the Starfleet campus. She wondered who took care of the apartment when he wasn't home. Amanda never mentioned…

Maybe she could look after it for him?

'Merlin and Morgana! Where had _that_ come from?' Harriet stilled in her moment of panic. Thankfully, Spock wasn't around to notice. Still!

[Did I not say this was about more than coffee partners?!]

'Hecate BLESS, _what is this_?'

[So now you admit there's a _thing_?]

'Calm down, think rationally.'

[There's nothing rational about this]

'Analyze the situation.'

[This is soooo beyond 'a situation' it's almost sad]

'Spock and I are friends. Well, as close to friends as a Vulcan and a human can be (Am I human?). It's perfectly natural that I would worry about his living situation. Merlin knows, he often inquires about mine (does he inquire for my sake or Starfleet's?) I'll ask if he wants my assistance and leave it at that.'

[But will you?]

Spock re-entered the car. Harriet didn't ask.

* * *

Sometime later, they arrived at Mrs. Thurston's shop. As Spock took a seat at what Harriet still fondly labeled 'their table,' she absently prepped a service of his preferred tea. The familiarity, even after so long, was soothing.

And, no, she was not acknowledging Mrs. Thurston's raised eyebrow and knowing look, thankyouverymuch.

She was, however, lightly considering what it was about Spock that made it easy for her to look past the Uniform. Intellectually, she knew that he was first and foremost Spock the Starfleet Science Officer with a heavy dose of Spock the Vulcan. Yet her magic _welcomed_ him in a way that she still didn't quite understand. In fact, she had found herself more than once mildly disturbed to find that it was Death, of all beings, who was nudging her toward… something with him. She just wasn't sure what, if anything, that something really was and honestly wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She placed the tray between them and picked up her coffee (as if she'd succumbed to tea! Pffft!).

Inhale, sip, sigh. Harriet relaxed bonelessly into her chair. The time to engage in some Spock style light conversation would come soon enough.

"You said the voyage was successful. Is there much that needs to be done while the ship is docked?"

"There are a few necessary repairs that must be completed."

"None too great, I'm sure."

"No, they should be completed with minimal difficulty."

"Good, then you will be able to spend some time away from the Fleet." Spock, still holding his cup, raised an eyebrow: a silent inquiry.

She took a deep breath, then plunged off the deep end. "I wanted to ask you about possibly taking some classes at the Academy. I have a few in mind but require a Sponsor to complete the necessary procedures in person. Also, a guide. I find that I don't much care for the idea of getting lost on campus."

As if she'd provide the Uniforms more of an opportunity than she was already presenting. Hopefully, Spock, and by extension the Uniforms, would take it as it was meant to be: an honest good faith exchange, one in which she would ignore her better judgment and walk in the open where they could more readily keep tabs on her and where she would get the hands on practicals she needed to grow, and become licensed, in the medical field.

"You did not mention a desire to study at the Academy previously. Is it your intention to join Starfleet?"

"No." Would a Slytherin take an oath of friendship at face value?! [or: _Helllll_ no.] "However, it seems Starfleet is the only place where I can further my study of xenobiology at an acceptable level. I have managed to get rather far on my own but I need some practical experience." As it turns out, Death's lending policy was only so lenient.

"I am not certain your…expertise will be well received. It is probable that you will need to submit to a battery of tests."

"So I have been made aware. I am prepared to sit the exams. I can take them as early as next month if the necessary forms are filed." She was as prepared as she was ever going to be.

Spock, as ever, was patient. There was no rush. He knew her well enough by now to know his patience would be rewarded.

'A true chess master indeed.'

She capitulated.

"I do not require any academic accolades to know that I am good at what I do. I only require the classes to become _better_ at what I do." Gryffindors, after all, could have just as much pride and overconfidence in their own self worth as any respectable Slytherin. The difference, at least in this, was that magic and years of studying magical and muggle healing made it more a statement of fact than arrogance.

Inhale, sip, savor, repeat. Wait.

"I understand." And, perhaps, he did.

* * *

To some extent, Spock did understand. Learning, and furthering one's understanding for the sake of increased knowledge, was considered by Vulcans to be a very respectable pursuit.

Still, _he_ was learning what it meant to be 'conflicted.'

Over the eight months and twenty two days that he had come to know Harriet, he had learned of her distrust for anything resembling a government entity. He still did not understand why it was so deeply engrained into her behavior patterns but he did comprehend the extent to which it both influenced and induced her actions. This request to be sponsored at the Academy was therefore significant.

Somehow, he needed to foster this new interest.

Somehow, he _wanted_ to foster this new interest.

Decision made, Spock wasted no time in reviewing the forms Harriet had prepared for him on her PADD. He immediately noticed that she had provided no new information and he did not know how she had appropriated birth records and a vehicle operator's license. Logic dictated she had made use of her various 'connections' to acquire them but he knew better than to make overt inquiries.

He did, however, notice that she had provided no physical home address. He would have to rectify that.

* * *

"Why should I support your decision to sponsor her, Lieutenant Spock?" Honestly, he should have expected this. Captain Daniels had known for months now that Spock had been growing more attached to the girl. "Are you aware that she is currently on Starfleet's watch list?"

"I am Captain. I am also aware that she wishes Starfleet no harm."

"And I am aware that she has all but evaded all Starfleet attempts to engage with her for the last near year. Except for you – a point which you have failed to address I might add."

"Captain, I thought it prudent to maintain her trust. I do not know the root of her distrust of government entities but her aversion appears to be in direct relation to her belief that Starfleet will not uphold its commitment to the Prime Directive."

"Then you believe her to be of an alien race?"

"I am inclined to believe she is either a human or a betazoid. She has exhibited traits of both. However, I can confirm neither."

Captain Daniels sat up straighter. This was new information. "What else has she exhibited?"

"She has exhibited many traits of interest. Amongst them is a reliance on caffeinated liquids, an ingrained hyper awareness of possible threats within her environment, a reluctance to engage in non-professional relationships, a commitment to the medical profession, and a unique ability to understand physiological difficulties at the molecular level without the aid of scientific instruments. She is also able to move freely from one location to another without use of her legs, a vehicle, or aid of any other observable device." 

A caffeine fix? Of all the things to pick up on … "How do you know she is not using, or planning to use, these abilities against us?"

"She has avoided all contact, or actions that would result in contact, with Starfleet until recently. She has also indicated that she maintains regular, peaceful contact with the community. Respectfully, Sir, this is an opportunity to engage with her and more closely monitor her actions."

"Or, it is an opportunity for her to gain access to additional resources." Captain Daniels sighed. "I will consider your proposal. Dismissed."

Spock, already at attention, nodded, then left Daniels' office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: An alien and a Gentleman (PRI's Selected Shorts)


	15. Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be changing the timeline a bit to fit my purposes so if Spock's promotion to Commander appears out of left field, it's intentional.

Until the SpockAttack! last Wednesday, Harriet had gotten rather good at avoiding Starfleet personnel of any variety. It helped that Mrs. Thurston's café was conveniently located far enough off the beaten track that only the truly desperate Uniform stopped in. Her motto when they walked in all buttered up in Uniform was simple: Act Natural. This was, of course, a very good motto given the situations she generally found herself in, and, thanks to a near year of working regular hours at the shop and her word-of-mouth-only side business, she could now blend in rather well. Still, it never hurt to have the motto firmly in mind at all times.

She was even beginning to understand the lingo too. Her innately British senses were, on some level, offended, but really by this point, she was rather good at 'just going with the flow' as they used to say. Her strange French-ish accent that she had picked up in her last reality was fairly faint these days, which was nice, given the whole trying to blend in thing.

Reading up on her history had helped as well. For instance, learning that money as she knew it had been replaced with the Federation credit cleared up some of her misgivings about how Mrs. Thurston was running her shop.

Also, 'credits to navy beans'? How is that even supposed to make sense? It doesn't. It just doesn't.

Back to history. Something that had most definitely not endeared her to this Earth as she didn't know it? The Eugenics Wars. Besides the point that they took place roughly during the time _her_ Earth was going through the Second Blood Purity War? They took place. Some thirty million deaths, possibly some _35_ million deaths! Whole populations bombed out of existence!

'And they call it _a dark subject_!'

Understatements, and the avoidance such understatements hinted at, only set up future generations for failure. Another thing: Tyrants were tyrants. Calling one of them the 'Best over the Others' did not change that fact.

[Issues much?]

'Damn straight!' (not that she was acknowledging the maybe-there, maybe-not-there disembodied voice that was _still_ there in her head.)

Then, on top of it all, they had fallen into a Third World War. When she found that out, she had called out sick for the first, and only, time since she began working at the shop.

'And they wonder why I don't trust anyone!'

[except maybe Spock?]

The wars aside, Harriet had to acknowledge that she couldn't blame the entirety of humanity for the failings of a long gone generation. The current state of the Federation was such that it was constantly on the brink of war but never seemingly _at_ war. She could live with that.

That didn't mean she could live with the Uniforms. Case in point:

"Bloody Hell, the Commander has it out for me!"

"Try staying awake in his class, it may just help."

"NO, no it won't. He definitely has it out for me. I know it."

"Have you even completed a reading assignment in that class?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, yes it does."

"You'll help me study for the exam right?"

"Ha! That's rich! Why should I?"

"Well we can't let him get away with this, right?"

"What do you mean 'we'? What 'we'?"

Quietly, the man sitting directly in front of her muttered: "Stars above, I came here hoping the children wouldn't follow… Should've gone to a bar."

Harriet, ironically wiping coffee mugs clean behind the bar, hummed her disagreement. "A drink won't help."

The man turned his eyes to her, his annoyance plain on his face. "I'm a doctor. I know it will."

"I'm a practicing physician. I know it won't." Harriet put the mug down, preparing to fill it. "Try this. 90% coffee, 10% migraine reliever." At his skeptical look, she added "on the house. This time only."

"You say that as if I'm coming back."

"Try it. And you will." Harriet busied herself with making the drink, then placed it in front of him. It was, like all 'herbal supplements' offered at the shop, perfectly innocuous.

One look of utter disbelief and forbearance later, he sipped. Tentatively. 'Probably thinks it'll taste like pants.' Harriet smiled ever so slightly, amused.

"Not bad," he said eventually. "Still not worth putting up with that on my time off."

'Ah, a Uniform. No wonder he's in such a foul mood. I'd be too if I had to wear some brightly colored get up everyday.' Harriet went back to wiping down mugs, the little stars hanging off her ears clinking quietly.

"Cadet?"

"Unfortunately," came the gruff reply. Uniform, check.

"Don't worry. Give it five minutes."

He made an appropriately offended noise through his nose. Harriet shrugged and focused on her task. Sure enough, five minutes later:

"Dear Lord, you were right." Utter disbelief? Check.

Harriet briefly gave him another half smile, then began wiping down the bar. After another five minutes, she ever so helpfully informed him, "you can't purchase it elsewhere and we don't sell it by the packet but you can come in once a week for it, if you want. I'm here every odd day."

He looked into his cup before asking skeptically, "you said you're a physician?"

"Alternative medicine." At his incredulous look, she added, "take or leave it. I'm not the one with the juvenile Cadet induced migraine." Harriet reached for a PADD, already anticipating his answer.

"Fine," he grumbled.

"Name?" She prepared to log it in.

"McCoy." Satisfied customer? Priceless.

* * *

Spock reminded her of a sorta green, Vulcany, male version of Hermione. Intelligent but beyond socially unaware. He was also tenacious. It was simultaneously endearing, annoying, and enlightening. He was always so curious, which, by the way, was a wonder in itself considering how much he already knew. In all, it was nostalgic, like a piece of home she'd forgotten that she missed.

Now if only he'd stop trying to weedle out where she lived and ask the question that was actually on his mind.

[Does he know what that question is?]

Harriet, once more not acknowledging the voice inside her head (was her age finally getting to her?), openly studied Spock's face. They were quietly back to playing _the_ game, although technically they were playing three dimensional chess at their table. His hair was as impeccable as ever, his eyebrows were healthy and expressive (as usual), his skin was a healthy shade of green, no head tilt – why was he uncomfortable?

[How do you know he's uncomfortable?]

'He just… _feels_ off. As if –' Suddenly Harriet realized she was actually _responding_ to the voice inside her head and mentally grimaced. 'Merlin help me, I may actually be going around the bend.' She sighed, again mentally (she wasn't going to lose _the_ game! –ttebayo!).

Finally, she allowed her stoicism to crack. She was assimilating some of Spock's more Vulcan habits yes, but she herself was only human. She drooped. Spock noticed.

"Are you unwell?"

"No, just tired."

Spock's mouth just so slightly turned down on one side. "Shall we stop for today?"

"No. I'm enjoying the game. It's just…" She worried her lip. "It's just that I'm starting to feel rather old."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. And really, Harriet understood. Physically, she looked to be only about 19, 20, 25 if you pushed it.

But, well, if she was going to go out on a limb [and acknowledge the fact that there's something tying you to him], she might as well go all the way out to the edge.

"I'm older than I look Spock." She raised a hand to her face and closed her eyes. Spock, a true master of _the_ game, steepled his fingers and waited for her to continue. "Honestly, I don't even remember when I stopped counting."

She appreciated his silence.

After some time, she asked "what are we Spock? Because I'm not sure I can lose another friend." (He's not another Hermione, he's not a replacement, he's _not_.)

She wasn't sure how to take his continued silence, but, well given how out of left field the question had been, she was also glad he didn't give her an immediate answer.

Or any answer, really.

* * *

Spock found himself once more in the unique position of being uncertain. He did not approve of this state of indecision.

[Eyebrow: personally, I enjoy the workout. BUFF!]

Hari's question (and when had using the short version of her name become acceptable?) had left him rather unbalanced.

In truth, the idea that she was older than she looked was not that difficult to believe. The impressive amount of knowledge she possessed spoke of years of study and experience that a Terran of her visible age would have found difficult to possess. However, her previous difficulty with using modern technology and her continued reluctance to make use of modern medical science suggested that she had not spent much of her time in contact with common Federation technologies or research centers. The issue of her age was thus both relevant and inconsequential, as she had adapted well and with little effort on his part.

On the other hand, the issue of 'what they were' required further consideration. The more he interacted with her, the more certain he became that she was not entirely human, for all that she was humanoid and largely experienced human existence as other humans experienced it. Likewise, the more he interacted with her, the more he began to realize his interactions were no longer strictly scientific or diplomatic in nature.

He was hard pressed to pinpoint when that had changed. Upon further meditation, he was also hard pressed to answer her question either succinctly or precisely.

Hopefully, his mother would help 'shed light' on the situation.

"Hello my son."

"Greetings Mother."

"How are you?"

"I am whole and healthy."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

Spock hesitated, which was telling all on its own. "I am to be promoted soon."

"Congratulations! That is a wonderful accomplishment."

"I am satisfied with my progress. However, I am uncertain if it would be appropriate to invite Harriet to the proceedings."

"Ahh." [Was that a twinkle?] "You and Harriet are regular correspondents. Do you consider her a friend?"

Again he hesitated. A friend? That was…

"I am uncertain."

"Well, at the very least she is a close acquaintance of both of us. I am sure she would be upset if you didn't invite her."

Upset? He was not quite sure what she meant.

Amanda smiled. "Invite her Spock. If she doesn't wish to attend, I'm sure she'll say so. Now tell me about your recent voyage. Harriet hasn't filled me in with all the recent details."

… Harriet corresponded regularly with his mother?

* * *

Spock was getting formally promoted to 'Lieutenant Commander' – what ever that meant. At the end of the week, a few days before he was to leave for another – _another_ – mission, this time only for a few months, but still! The nerve of some people! Couldn't they wait a few months, give him some actual time off?

[Maybe _Spock_ didn't want time off, hmmm? Would he know what to do with it, hmmm?]

But back to the formal issue – formal meant Uniforms. Far too many Uniforms for Harriet's taste. She honestly wasn't sure why she even thought attending was a good idea. Yet here she was, in a room full of Uniforms, her entire being tense with a mix of expectation, wariness, and a dash of excitement for Spock's achievement. Why that achievement had to be celebrated at the Academy of all places, she had no idea. In fact, she firmly disagreed – the Academy was no place for celebrations. Yessiree, it was a place exclusively of learning and study, certainly not of parties and celebrations.

[You're rambling.]

In short, the whole place had her on edge. Given the choice, she may have avoided it like the plague. But then Spock, good ole Spock, had to remind her that she would be starting her electives here soon. In fact, she would be taking her assessments here next week.

She discreetly looked around, marking all of the exits and personnel in attendance.

'Think of this as training. Get through this, get through the Academy courses.'

… Nope. Wasn't happening. Harriet turned on her heels, ready to flee, only to walk face first into a Uniform.

'Daniels…. CAPTAIN DANIELS?!' Awww fudge. Gryffindor, Shmyffindor. She was out!

She nodded her head as if he had just asked her a question, then stiffly moved to side step him.

"Spock would be sorely disappointed if you don't attend."

Aww hell, he went there.

Harriet stopped, nodded her head again, and continued on her way out the door to the entryway. She stopped just outside the _very_ official building, with its _very_ official Starfleet logo, and took several deep breaths.

Could she really do this? For Spock? (who was Spock to her?)

She wasn't so sure.

* * *

Daniels silently watched the girl disappear. He was impressed that she had come at all. It said a lot about the relationship between herself and Spock. It also said a lot about Spock.

'Maybe Spock's assessment was right.'

He checked himself mentally and strode calmly toward the dais. Then he smiled as another thought struck him.

'He's actually made a friend.'

* * *

Harriet sighed. Looking toward the sky, she found no answers floating in the clouds, though the son of a previous friend firmly believed she could find them there.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she focused on the sensation of the air on her face, of her breath going in and out of her lungs – in, then out. Gradually her pounding heart relaxed. She relaxed. She took one last deep breath, then exhaled, long and slow. Her head dropped.

A passerby gave her a funny look. She ignored him.

Finally, she clenched her fists. 'I can do this.' And she could. Another breath. "Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon." 'Let's just get this over with.'

With one last slow exhalation, she opened her eyes and briefly surveyed her surroundings. It seemed oddly quiet, so orderly, so military, so wrong and right at the same time.

Yes, she could do this. For Spock. For the pursuit of knowledge. For herself.

Silently she turned military style and slowly walked back inside, like someone walking toward her doom with confidence. If anyone noticed when she quietly reentered the room and took a seat in the very back row, next to the exit, they were too professional to mention it. Well, it was that or the accidental disillusionment charm that swept over her as she took a seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: Courage; Harriet meets another quote un quote Doctor; should I write a Harriet-Naruto spin off?


	16. Interlude

Harriet and Spock were once more at their table in Mrs. Thurston's shop. Harriet was drinking an experimental mochaccino. It was experimental only in the sense that she'd never made one before but woke up with a strange need to have one today. So she dabbled. It worked out rather well if she said so herself.

Spock, as ever, was enjoying one of her herbal, non-caffeinated teas. Apparently, he found them most relaxing, not that he'd said as much. Really, at this point he didn't have to. Harriet needed to think on that bit some more but now was probably not the time.

Spock put down his cup. "I have taken the liberty of completing your paper work."

Harriet paused in her contemplations. 'Completing my paperwork?' "I was unaware that there were any deficiencies."

Spock raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, as if she should know full well what he was getting at. "You did not provide a residential address. For the time being, you will use mine. Your mail, however, will still be forwarded to your PADD."

Harriet sat quietly, shocked. She blinked several times before putting down her mochaccino. What could she say to that? After a while, she settled for a simple, "thank you."

Silence.

Spock was waiting for something.

'Fine,' she sighed internally. Then, "I am still not ready to put my life into the hands of the government."

"They will not harm you. Starfleet has agreed to allow you entrance with the stipulation that upon completion of your chosen course of study, you will work with Starfleet to improve relations with yourself and your people."

Harriet gave in to a very unlady like snort. 'What people?' And wasn't that sad to think about?

(and was she ever going to get an answer to her question?)

* * *

The public departure terminal to the transporter bay directly connected to the Spacedock was surprisingly empty. The crowd of crew and family she was expecting was largely absent. Then again, it was near four in the morning.

She quietly walked alongside Spock, her long, sleeveless sweater dress quietly flapping around her, arms resting at her sides. The part of her that still remembered her original home noted that it wasn't very Snape like but, then again, she wasn't really trying. Instead, the knee length tunic she wore under her loose dress and her knee high dragon hide boots (which once again looked like leather to the naked human eye) were meant to be unobtrusive. While she didn't blend in per se, she didn't particularly stick out either, and that was the point.

As they walked, she quietly took a sip from her durable, might-as-well-be-strapped-to-her-hip-like-a-flask-but-her-satchel-would-get-in-the-way coffee cup, seeking comfort. His visit had been too short. Intellectually, she knew he would be back soon and would actually be staying for quite some time if he was granted the position of Academy professor, but still …

'Perhaps I should look into becoming a Starfleet civilian.' Spock had o so conveniently mentioned it was an option. Did she want to commit to something like that, to a life (yes?)? Did she want to risk being separated from the only thing her magic was practically screaming at her to call home? How was Spock home? Did she _have_ a home anymore?

Harriet replaced her flask (coffee cup!), then absently scratched the mark of the deathly hallows on her wrist as they walked.

All too soon, they reached the security checkpoint and it was time to part.

"Live long and prosper."

"May your journey be free of incident."

And just like that, he was gone again. Harriet mentally deflated.

* * *

Harriet's assessments for her qualified entrance into the Academy were hell. Besides the fact they leaned heavily in favor of medical science, which, by the way, she was not a fan of, they needlessly tested her in other subjects as well. Like math, which again wasn't as big an issue as long as it was related to medicine and doses and calculating risks but calculus and linear math and quantum mechanics for the sake of it? NO. Just NO.

'Clearly they're trying to fill the information gap.' They probably were. It's not like she provided them with much to begin with. Now, however, now they had a good grasp of what they _thought_ was the breadth of her intelligence.

She saw no reason to inform them otherwise.

All that mattered was that she got into her desired practicals. After all, she wasn't aiming to become a Starfleet graduate and she doubted they would let her if she tried. Of course, she could just over power their systems and either convince them she wasn't actually there or plant the idea that she had always been there and that there was no oddity surrounding her selective class schedule. That, however, in an age overwhelmed by complicated and redundant technologies and security systems meant a considerable amount of work.

[getting lazy are we?]

But, did walking in the open truly serve her purposes? Was engaging with Starfleet the optimal option? She could just stay at the shop. It was tempting but would she be _living_?

When had she stopped caring about the distinction?

Anyway, she was thankful Death's lending policy favored her passing and a part of her was beginning to accept the idea that They might be trying to tell her something.

* * *

The hairs on the back of Harriet's neck twitched. 'My Spidey senses are ting~ling.' Really, the wards were just announcing a visitor but esh, same difference.

Sure enough, about two seconds later the bell on the door rang as a customer entered the shop – in fact, it had to be one of her customers given the warning and, given the day and time, she had a good idea of who it was.

She turned around. Sure enough, he was back. Like clockwork, he came every Wednesday for his weekly 'pick me up' at two in the afternoon sharp. Harriet resisted the urge to snort. It was like an addiction and she told him so.

"It works." And that was almost enough for him. "Why sell it at a coffee shop?"

"Why wouldn't I sell it at a coffee shop?" As if she'd work anywhere else!

McCoy was clearly unimpressed.

Harriet wiped the steamer down, then took a seat on the stool behind the counter, pointedly looking down at her latte, then looked up with a raised eyebrow, channeling her inner Spock.

Finally, McCoy put two and two together and gave a short laugh. "And you say I have a problem."

Harriet switched to channeling her inner moue, not denying his accusation.

* * *

Harriet was finally getting around to thinking on one of the many thoughts she had put aside for later, that one about how she could read Spock so well in particular. At this point she'd properly _known_ Spock for just shy of a year, had interacted with him for roughly only eight months of that year, and had seen him even less. How could she read him so well?

Sure, they'd sent enough video letters and had enough conversations to know roughly how the other thought and went about their day but that wasn't enough to really guess his moods was it? To be able to read a Vulcan's near expressionless face? To read the emotions that roiled beneath the calm (that most Vulcan's actually didn't deny having when asked directly but most other races presumed were non-existent)?

Harriet was brought back to that first time they had met, to the way her magic had washed over him while not affecting him in the slightest bit. She thought back to that first time her magic had seemed to welcome him and realized she was well and truly 'in deep.'

Unless, _all_ Vulcans were immune? (An out!)

[do you really want it?]

She'd have to test the theory somehow. She was known, to some extent, to the Vulcan embassy staff from spending time there with Amanda. Perhaps, she could conduct her experiment there? What should she try?

With a start, she realized something else.

'What are you trying to tell me Death?'

Because it wasn't _her_ magic necessarily that was homing in on Spock but that part of her that was both hers and not hers and it hadn't rang true with the other Vulcans she had encountered previously.

'Am I supposed to fix something? Will he rise to be the next Dark Lord? Is he a catalyst? What more DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!'

For the first time, in decades, Harriet broke down and began to sob.

A quiet voice that rarely spoke, and that Harriet almost didn't hear, answered like a breeze calmly whispering through on a clear day: " _Nothing_."

Harriet, eyes red, looked up, confused. Death ALWAYS wanted something.

" _Perhaps it is time for you to want something_."

Harriet could only blink and reach for a conjured box of tissues. Stunned and confused and _annoyed_ didn't begin to express what she was feeling. 

* * *

"I will be starting classes at the Academy soon."

McCoy nearly gave himself whiplash, he looked up so fast. "What?"

"The upcoming term. A practical in xenobiology and a few courses on interstellar disease."

"Why the hell would you do that?" McCoy was clearly _not_ impressed, which seemed to be his default expression.

Harriet laughed, heliopath earrings swinging gently, catching the light and flaring, briefly, like small suns. "I'm a physician, if I stop learning, I stop being effective."

"But why Starfleet? It's not like they deal in your so called 'alternative medicine.'"

"Perhaps not but I want to learn, to expand, and Starfleet has the resources for me to do that."

McCoy made a derisive sound. "The Academy is full of nothing but children and dreams."

Harriet smiled. She loved his snark.

* * *

It was time for her weekly check on Spock's apartment. [getting a bit domestic are we?] Technically, she didn't need to. Apparently, Spock had a cleaning service that came once a week to keep the place clear of dust. Really, that was the only thing they needed to do. The place was _immaculate_ and she was near certain it wasn't a result of the stellar efforts of the cleaning ladies.

'Or do they use droids?' she wondered. She would have to look into that later. For now, she would settle for wondering if she needed to get herself a cleanroom outfit.

Did she mention the place was immaculate?

'I almost feel unclean, this place is so tidy.'

After a moment of standing in the customary shock and slight disdain she always felt when she stopped by his apartment, she was momentarily tempted to move something just to see if he noticed.

With a slight laugh, Harriet smiled. 'He probably would.'

She slid out of her shoes at the door and glanced around the front room. For now, she was officially only intruding to ceremonially wipe down his meditation space and lamp, as Amanda had suggested.

[definitely domestic]

She also placed fresh flowers in front of the window in his kitchen. Sure, Spock wasn't likely to see any value gained from dying flowers, nor was he likely to see them while he was in _space_ , but she put them there nonetheless. Harriet thought they added a nice splotch of disorderly color to the otherwise orderly apartment.

She left the stems on the counter for good measure. 'It's not like he'll notice and the cleaning service will just pick them up anyway.' She smiled, pleased. For now, it was her little act of disorderly conduct, her little way of introducing Spock's space to herself [and we're not going to question that sentiment?].

Finished, she walked to the entrance, replaced her shoes, and locked up behind herself.

* * *

"So you're threatening to make me disappear?"

"Of course not. I'm suggesting that you consider all that Starfleet has to offer –"

"or else."

"Not 'or else.'"

"Riiight, but you're not offering true legalization either. So either I consider 'the possibilities of Starfleet' or get shipped off planet or detained against my will. And since the odds are you'd rather I didn't become an unknown quantity for your potential enemies, you're more likely to do the latter given I refuse to do the first. Ergo, you're threatening me with the unknown factor of an unspoken 'or else.' Problem being I don't respond well to threats and you know you couldn't hold me if you tried. Likewise, the only leverage you have to possibly corner me with will see the logic of my natural decision to not be controlled against my will. So what are you actually suggesting, _sir_?"

The Admiral gritted his teeth and locked eyes with Harriet, silently weighing his next words.

"If I might interject Admiral?"

"By all means Captain Daniels."

Daniels' face turned on the screen and focused on Harriet. "Do you place value in Spock's personal opinion Ms. Luna?"

Harriet stared at Captain Daniels without emotion. "Of everything that was just said, that's what you're going with?" Sighing heavily, she crossed her arms and leaned further back in her chair. 'Let the emotion drain. Calm yourself. Give them nothing.' With a cleared mind, she raised an eyebrow in mock imitation of Spock and firmly stated, "I do."

The subtle mocking nature of the eyebrow raise was not wholly lost to the Captain. "Then I would ask you to reconsider your options."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I have never considered working with Starfleet, or any government agency, a viable option, largely for this very reason, as I am sure Spock has mentioned."

"Yes, Spock has made me aware of your sentiments. However, I am asking you, in effect, to consider the scientific and humanitarian nature of Starfleet's mission and to consider if Spock is the type to commit himself to such a mission if he didn't firmly believe in it."

"To what end?" Fine, she would play his game. Daniels tilted his head to the left ever so slightly. "Why would I separate two aspects of the same entity?" she clarified.

"For the purpose of indulging your curiosity, to challenge your skills and knowledge, to find a purpose, beyond surviving solely for the sake of surviving, while simultaneously resolving your issue of _legal_ documentation. With Starfleet's backing, you would have access to the latest medical research and some of the foremost minds in the medical and natural science fields and, with the Admiralty's blessing, a spot as a _civilian_ consultant amongst the crew of Spock's next posting."

Harriet considered this. "Why 'with the Admiralty's backing' and not 'as a member of Starfleet'." Semantics were never trivial where government agencies were concerned.

Instead of answering, the Captain turned back to the Admiral. "Admiral, I would like to suggest Harriet be considered for the crew on Spock's next assignment, the _Enterprise_ , under Captain Pike, when she's ready for her maiden voyage." The Admiral raised an incredulous eyebrow of his own. "There are precedents, sir, for civilians serving alongside Starfleet personnel in an official capacity. Her unique abilities and interest in xenobiology and medicine would be a great asset to the ship's mission and both Starfleet and Ms. Luna would benefit from the arrangement." To Harriet, this was a polite way of saying 'we can watch her without alienating her.' "Furthermore, Spock's presence aboard the ship could possibly ease some of her fear."

'Fear?! As if the Master of Death was afraid of something so _incapable_ of even comprehending the breadth of who she was!' Harriet quietly stewed but not so deeply as to upset her calm control over her magic. As sensitive as it was to her will, it wouldn't due to provide more reasons for Starfleet to take notice of her. O, she could _obliviate_ the whole thing from the Admiral's memory but Daniel's? Over this distance? She wasn't in the mood or position to really find out.

Slowing her thoughts once more, she considered the options they had presented and the failsafes she could personally implement. In all honesty, the scenario presented by Daniels was one of the best possible outcomes.

"I'll agree to consider the possibilities of the conditions just presented, nothing more. If the conditions change, so will my willingness to reconsider."

The Admiral's eyes sharpened. "Is _that_ a threat Ms. Luna?"

Harriet seemed to age before them. "It's the truth," she stated without heat or malice. "I may care to hear Spock's opinion but I'm not beyond breaking ties with him."

"Then why haven't you?" asked Daniels.

Harriet tilted her head to the side and it almost seemed as if her eyes themselves smiled at them. "Maaa, I'm not so sure myself." And she wasn't but keeping how greatly that disturbed her from them was a top priority.

Both men considered her quietly for a few minutes, thinking. The Admiral whose name she refused to acknowledge finally nodded his head. "I'll take your position and the Captain's suggestions to the Board."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The spaces in between
> 
> On the last name Luna: Recall that in (Partial) Truths and Awkward Turtles, Part I, Harriet showed Spock her fabricated identity which stated her name was Harriet Luna. She will eventually tell Spock what her original name was but for now, her last name is Luna. In my head cannon, rotating identities and focusing on filling those roles helps keep Harriet 'in the game' so to speak. If she was always Harriet Potter, she would be less able to distinguish between realities if she didn't change it up somehow, especially if we're talking an unspecified number of realities.
> 
> There is also a side story, a loose Naruto/ HP crossover that details the first time Harriet uses the name Luna and why she has fond memories of the name. I will post it if there is interest, but the writing style is completely different than the one used to tell this story...


	17. Teaching and Learning, Pt I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time line is a bit fudged but essentially it's been a year and several months since Harriet met Spock. She met Bones roughly a month before the summer semester that Bones had to be enrolled in if he was part of the same graduating class as Jim (meaning both graduated in three years as both entered as recruits at the same time right?). 
> 
> This chapter therefore marks the beginning of the Summer of 2257 or so, assuming the Academy school year works like other universities and military academies.
> 
> On the topic of timelines, some smudging occurred and will continue to occur.

Harriet's eyebrow twitched. As they clearly hadn't done the reading, she was channeling her ever developing inner Spock. As there were a lot of things to learn, the professor clearly couldn't cover all of it in a single weekly lecture. Thus the reading that was assigned. 'It's a medical course! Who in Morgana's personal hell doesn't think it might just help to do the reading in advance?'

She was starting to think McCoy was on to something.

'Is this what I have to look forward to in _all_ of the classes I take here? If that's the case, I may skip out on a few.'

Hopefully, her Vulcan 305 course would be better. She wouldn't get her hopes up though. 'Perhaps I should engage Spock further on the matter? How would he respond if I butchered the language to his face on a more regular basis?' Now that she thought about it, the shear amount of pain and patience that he would have to wade through in order to keep that oh so stoic face of his might be worth it. Harriet smiled mischievously. 'Challenge accepted.'

[insert sandcastle baby success meme here – do they still have those?]

She was getting delightfully off track. 'Speaking of patience, back to the cadets (midshipmen?) clearly digging holes for themselves. How could the teacher stand it?'

Harriet, wearing a variation of the outfit she always wore on the Starfleet campus – fitted leggings, long beige, almost tunic like long sleeved top, a thick leather belt, and sturdy dragon hide boots – played with a loose curl. Her hair was long enough now that it really should be controlling itself. She'd even gone through the effort of using magic, a slow wave of the hand over her head as she concentrated _really_ hard, to braid it into nice long braids that she'd wrapped into a bun, naturally using her holly wand to keep it in place. Yet she still had loose, fly away curls to play with as she considered how almost remedial this class was turning out to be.

'Hopefully the professor will assert himself soon and put a stop to this. They really should have done the reading.'

Harriet sighed. It was going to be a long summer.

* * *

Harriet was sitting at a table near the medical sciences building, unruly black hair, messy bun or no, spilling out over her face and down her shoulders.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

"How's it going so far? Drinking your own wares yet?" McCoy. Merlin, she was glad to hear his voice. In a flared brown wrap top over her usual getup (it was a touch cold these days), she still, as ever, stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of red and grey uniforms. It was no wonder McCoy had been able to spot her from wherever he had come from.

Harriet dramatically looked up at the sky, as if seeking divine intervention. "I'm on my third cup of coffee if that means anything."

McCoy grouched out: "Only that you can't live without it."

"It's amazing that _you_ can live without it. It's also amazing you've lasted as long as you have without it. I just don't know how you survive."

McCoy cracked a small smile. "Some migraine reliever and a drink or two here and there helps."

Harriet smiled herself. "Something tells me judicious use of your sharp tongue also helps keep the worst of it at bay."

Snort. "I have to do something to discourage them. Half of the nurses are so incompetent it hurts."

Harriet let out a small laugh, silently agreeing with him. "Deep down, I'm sure."

McCoy smirked, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Right where my black heart fails to beat."

Harriet laughed outright. "It's good to see you're managing so well in spite of it all. Only another year left right?"

McCoy suddenly looked pained. "Please don't remind me."

Harriet grabbed up her PADD, satchel silently bumping her side. "Headed anywhere in particular? I could use some intelligent company."

"No, I'm free for the rest of the day. I was planning on reviewing some material in the reference library."

"Really, on what?"

"Namely abnormal bibasilar breath sounds in Andorians."

Harriet readily engaged in the ensuing discussion on lung isolation, lung tissue diseases across species, and common ways of spotting them. She enjoyed such discussions. She also enjoyed challenging McCoy to think beyond vaccinations and hyposprays, to consider the whole body, including the mind, rather than the single illness presented at any given time. It was a point they regularly, if friendly enough, disagreed on and both, if asked, would, perhaps grudgingly, admit that they learned quite a lot from the other during their disagreements.

Harriet still stood by her 'alternative medicine' though and McCoy still came once a week to indulge in it.

* * *

Spock returned just past halfway through the semester. He was slated to spend some time teaching starting next semester and needed to prepare. In the meantime, Harriet was determined to flush out their friendship, such as it was, and learn more about what made Spocky Spock.

If Death wanted her to go after something, then she would do so with the determination of a true Gyrffindor, if not quite as recklessly.

"Meeting twice a week would hardly impose upon you Spock." Spock, seated across from Harriet, quietly looked back at her, eyebrow partially raised. "It wouldn't! And we don't have to meet at the shop."

She'd been meaning to bring him by sometime anyway. It was only fair right?

[…not even gonna touch that…]

"It is not the meeting to which I object. It is a matter of availability."

Harriet pouted. "I am sure you can find time to meet for tea and an outing."

Spock paused briefly. "I was not aware we were meeting for anything other than the consumption of beverages."

Harriet worried her lip. This was something she had been thinking on for quite some time actually. Finally, she sighed and took a sip of coffee. "Actually, it's something I've been meaning to do for some time." She stopped to consider Spock for a moment, then looked out the window for a few minutes. When she spoke again, her voice was just loud enough for his Vulcan ears to pick up.

"Have you ever felt that you don't understand humanity Spock?"

Spock considered her question. "I have often experienced …confusion … in regards to the human race."

"Hmmmmm." Harriet continued to look out the window, finger idly tracing a pattern on the side of her coffee mug. Finally, she turned back to Spock, voice a bit firmer, steadied. "I think we should address the issue instead of continuing to avoid it."

Spock bristled in that barely noticeable fashion of Vulcans, an ever so slight stiffening of the shoulders. "To the best of my knowledge, I have not been avoiding any… issue related to garnering a better understanding of humanity."

Harriet, all levity gone, looked him directly in the eye, intense green eyes serious with a hint of steel. "And yet neither of us can say we understand what it means to be human." She tilted her head, considering his stiffer than usual posture and barely restrained distaste.

"I am a Vulcan."

"You are also half human."

"And yourself?"

Harriet looked back out the window. "I honestly don't know anymore." Predictably, Spock stilled, eyes focused on her face, and waited for her to continue. "I think we should take this opportunity to explore the idea of what it means to be human. Together, so we can learn from each other, encourage the other to participate in the sea of humanity that surrounds us. I'm really not sure I would bother further otherwise."

Spock quietly contemplated her response. Harriet went back to sipping her coffee and staring out the window. Finally, cup finished, she looked back at Spock. "So, tea and an outing, weekly, even if it's only to try a new shop and observe the behaviors and reactions occurring around us. We can discuss our impressions afterwards. If you must, think of it as a research exercise."

Spock tilted his head ever so slightly, considering her before he eventually answered with: "I will ensure that I have an appropriate amount of time available."

[ _face palm_ ]

* * *

Spock found _Harriet_ 's home rather interesting. He couldn't place where her sudden desire to show him her home had come from but chose to perceive it as progress toward his goal. Perhaps it was a show of trust in response to when he had given her a key pass to his own home? To say the least, he had not expected it, as the chances of any form of reciprocation of the action had been less than seventeen point three percent.

When _Harriet_ had insisted that he follow her to somewhere new after he met her at the end of her classes one day, he had expected a coffee house or one of those cafés that sold the overly sweet confections she sometimes favored with her coffee. He had not expected her to eventually lead him down a moderately traveled lane with some businesses lined up like row houses.

When _Harriet_ finally stopped in front of an older store front, blue paint peeling here and there, white curtains drawn on the lower half of a three-quarters high floor to ceiling bay window, book stacks (hard copy books?) and piles of newspapers (paper newspapers?) visible through what was left, he was tempted to express his mild confusion, then chastised himself for feeling it.

He returned his attention unequivocally to the sight before him. Although he couldn't see down the aisles formed by the stacks from the street, he could discern no other life in the shop. There was no indication of the shop's name or business hours. There was, however, a symbol prominently displayed above the center of the door, a circle with a triangle inside and a line down the middle, identical to the one _Harriet_ wore on her wrist – a symbol that she had never explained and that he had never asked about.

"I was under the impression we were going for tea." Even as he said this, Spock also took note of the fact that no other being on the street seemed to take note of them. In fact, given the way their eyes seemed to slide right over them, he suspected that they couldn't even see them standing in front of the shop. 'Another aspect of her ability to manipulate perceptions?' This skill was perhaps more dangerous and wider in scope than he had first been considering.

_Harriet_ [Eyebrow: how long are we going to harp on this? I'm getting twitchy] laughed in a way that registered as nervousness to Spock's ears. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear – she had worn 'braids' before but instead of the smaller braids she used to 'keep hair out of her face', she had two larger 'Greek' braids leading from the front of her head into a larger tail that trailed down her shoulders. Spock personally felt it would be more logical to cut her hair if she had such difficulties 'taming' it.

He had previously said as such. She had refused.

She had also refused to tell him why she always wore the same standard clothing to the Academy but he felt asking further would be considered inappropriate.

Harriet [ _thank Surak_ ] pulled a set of keys out of her satchel, which he'd long since noted she always wore, and fiddled with them for a bit. "Right. Well, we _are_ having tea. We're just having tea here today." Spock, hands already behind his back, finally raised an eyebrow in expectation [relief!], the words 'and where is here?' unspoken but readily conveyed.

She looked down, then looked up, took a deep breath, looked at the door for another 2.3 seconds, then placed the key in the door and turned the lock (a non poly key, non biometric key lock?).

'Is this where she conducts her business?'

Harriet quickly sent a smile his direction before pushing the door open. "Come in. It's a bit musty in this part but we'll actually be sitting in the back."

Spock stepped into the establishment and cleared the door as Harriet turned to lock (by hand) the door behind them.

"This way."

She led him past several tables stacked with print newspapers, dust covered chairs and followed a clear trail of wood covered floor along 8.47 meters of bookshelves before stopping and looking at him with a 'strained' smile.

"Well, this is it." She gestured with both hands before her. In a lowered voice, she added, "this is home," before dropping her hands back to her side. She turned to look at him.

Taken off guard by the unexpected, and once more chastising himself for it, Spock took a second to contemplate how the space seemed larger than it should before taking in the scene before him.

The space behind the stacks was relatively clean and clear. To the right and back, there was a small kitchen nook with a small island and two stools, wood cabinets that matched the flooring in the rest of the room, white tile, and modern appliances (no replicator?). Straight in front of him was a small circular rug and a set of stairs that he assumed led to living quarters in the low walled loft up above. To the immediate left and right, there were benches of different heights and widths perpendicular to the stacks. There was some modern, and some not so modern (scales? iron pots? burners?), lab equipment on them with racks of (fresh?) drying herbs and other greenery hanging from the ceiling, blocking the view from the street.

Directly across from these tables was a small, apparently well used, sitting area with more book shelves lining the tall walls, two large windows set high near the ceiling (shouldn't they look out to another building?), two large but sturdy chairs, angled to be not quite facing each other, an end table between them, and a low coffee table in the center on top of a large worn rug.

Hari bounced on her toes nervously for 5.7 seconds as he took in the scene before him, then moved off to the kitchen area.

"Would you like to try one of my own blends or a store bought tea? O, and be careful of Smaug the Terrible, he's around here somewhere…"

'Fascinating.'

Surprisingly, Spock never caught the slip.

* * *

Spock was apparently being tapped to design an updated version of some test to see if a command track candidate had it in them to become Captain. Of course he wasn't the only one asked but as the originator of the program, and by virtue of Spock being Spock, Harriet was certain his improvements to the simulation would at the very least be one of the top versions taken under consideration.

"It should do more than cause the cadets to experience fear in the face of certain death, Spock. It should also test tenacity, determination, and resignation when required."

"I do not follow your logic."

"Leadership isn't always a matter of doing what is most logical or 'right.' In fact, leaders must often walk the fine lines between what is morally correct, what is best for their own people, and the marching orders that have been handed down. Whatever action they chose, whether they chose to walk the line or one side of the line over another, it's important for them to commit to what they believe is right and remain determined to carry out their commitments."

Spock steepled his fingers. "You are implying that moral ambiguity is not a fault. You are also implying that a leader should not be flexible."

"No. I am not saying that a leader cannot change their mind when they receive new information, only that they should pick an angle, find something to fight for, and hold onto that. As for moral ambiguity, what is morality? If different interactions and information inform our being, is there any true action that is strictly correct or strictly incorrect? What is right and wrong? Even those who do great or terrible things can find 'morally ambiguous' reasons to justify their actions, people or ideas to claim they are protecting."

Spock rested his chin on his steepled fingers, deep in thought. Harriet sipped her espresso.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You are arguing then that the underlying question is why a leader chooses a course of action and how committed they are to their own personnel when they carry out that action."

"Not precisely, but that is one way of putting it. In essence, I am asking 'why are you, the leader, fighting? And for who? And how far are you willing to go to see your commitment through?' I think a good leader, even if they are hell bent on pursuing something morally at odds with your own opinions, can articulate the answers to each of these questions."

"Yet I am certain training, preparedness, and the ability to accept the inevitable are also strong aspects of a potential leader."

"Not all leaders are born or formally trained Spock. Some develop as a necessity, forged by fire as it were. Formal training and preparedness are desirable traits but can come with time through the acquisition of experience. The question that must then come is 'at what cost?'"

"Which is why it would be appropriate only to pass someone who is properly trained and prepared to accept the challenges of a Captaincy."

"But what are the challenges of a Captaincy Spock? There is the management of your people, yes, and the ability to understand and undertake the mission, but what else? You mentioned accepting the inevitable, what did you mean? Is there truly a situation that is inevitable? Because most situations are a result of our actions, of a leader's actions, of choices."

"As a Captain, not all actions are yours to control. A leader must understand this. A leader must also take into account the nature of the mission and understand that the optimal solution to difficulties facing the mission must be pursued."

"Why?"

Spock cocked his head. "Please elaborate."

"Why must the optimal solution be pursued? On the matter of morality, if the mission can be accomplished without loss of life or under the most favorable conditions for the crew, why should the impersonal 'optimal solution' be pursued?" Harriet made sure to use air quotes to emphasize her point. "There are very few times outside of mathematics that there is only one solution to a problem Spock. If anything, a true leader should understand this."

"I will concede that there are many routes to the same outcome. However, it is not logical to pursue the route that does not optimize the use of resources to accomplish the mission in the optimal amount of time."

Harriet took another sip of her espresso. "The question that I think you should consider then, Spock, is what if there is no optimal solution? If there is only one action that you can take and only so many options on the scale of morality to choose from, what leadership qualities would you like to see displayed? At what point should a Captain become resigned to one course of action? And, at worst, given a no-win scenario, the inevitable, does the potential Captain react with the qualities you prize? You must find a scenario where the majority of these questions can be answered in brief."

And he would, she was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dark, Light, and Grey


	18. Commiseration

"So McCoy – "

"Bones."

"Bones?"

"You can call me Bones. It's a nickname of sorts."

"Oh, well, Bones, why are you hiding out here today?"

"I'm not hiding out."

"It's not your regular day to pop in. So why are you here?"

"Can't I visit a friend?"

'Friends are we now?' [good god woman, yes!]

Harriet raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and waited, unimpressed. This was the game she often played with Spock so she knew she could hold out.

McCoy finally gave in. "I'm escaping a walking disaster determined to get kicked out of the Academy."

"What's his name?"

"Why's it have to be a him?" 'Stalling.'

"Because I've never heard you talk so favorably about a nurse or fellow doctor. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard you talk about women outside of academics in general."

McCoy's face turned somewhat sour. He looked down for a bit at the cup of tea Harriet, 'Call me Hari!', had prepared for him. It took him a while to grudgingly answer her but he did. "Jim. He's more of a headache than he's worth."

"Sounds like the makings of either a beautiful friendship or an exasperating romance."

McCoy almost choked. "Romance?! Where the hell did you get that notion from?"

Harriet shrugged, a small smile on her face as she leaned on the bar. "You never know. Besides, like I said, you don't really talk about women."

McCoy scowled again. It seemed to be one of his favorite expressions. "No. Just, no."

Harriet leaned further on the bar, tilted slightly left, and just kept smiling at him. Then she started to bat her eyelashes at him.

McCoy looked mildly disturbed and distinctly uncomfortable so she laughed good naturedly and sat back on her stool. There was a lull and the bar was clean so she really had nothing else to do but badger McCoy – 'Bones. He said call him Bones.'

"I swear you do these things on purpose."

Harriet's smile brightened. "Because I do." She was bored in her old age (I am not old!) [old as dirt], so she had to take advantage of the small things in life – like baiting Bones.

"Hmmph." Bones looked off to the side, picked up his cup, and took a large gulp. "So what is it this time? Stress reliever?" 'Avoidance. The women thing must be a sore point for him.'

"Hmmm. Not quite." Harriet loosely crossed her arms. "It's a mild relaxer, something to help calm your nerves." Bones gave her a disbelieving look. 'She should start naming them… maybe this one will be skeptical #1?' "Well, you looked less peachy than your everyday spectacular self. So, what do you think?"

"I can't tell if it's working."

"Good. You shouldn't. Not right away anyway." Harriet leaned back onto the counter, placing a hand under her chin. "So, really, what's on your mind?"

Bones made a face but kept quiet. Harriet's smile softened. After a while, she simply said: "you're welcome to stay as long as you like." She moved to get up and walk further down the bar, where she had some imaginary bean sorting to do. "And there's no cap on the calming draught so let me know when you want to top up."

Bones hurrmphed again before muttering, "calming draught? What is this? The twentieth century?"

* * *

"This is Smaug, the Great and Terrible. I mentioned him before right? I found him a few months ago or, well, he found me." When Spock continued to eye the kneazle-esque feline, she elaborated. "He's a cat."

"I am aware of its likely species."

"Yes, I know Spock, but you're eyeing him like he's a science experiment gone wrong." Which was fair.

"I do not know the reason you are … introducing him to me," although he appeared as if he was beginning to suspect.

"I have a client I have to go see out of town. I'll be away for a few days."

"And you wish for me to care for him."

"Yes. You don't have to do much. Just make sure he's eating the food in the dispenser and hasn't accidentally, or deliberately, turned off the self-cleaning cat box I'll give you."

Spock looked unconvinced.

Harriet put the black furball of a cat down. "It's only for a few days. I'll be back Sunday evening."

Spock eyed the cat as it sauntered away. "I am not … fond of animals."

"With cats, you don't really need to be. They more or less take care of themselves. The shedding will be minimal and you won't even need to pick him up." She moved to the kitchen area. "Now, tell me about your week. Are you ready to start teaching? You'll be filling in for another professor, yes?" She put the kettle on and moved toward her espresso machine.

Spock continued to eye Smaug as he sauntered up the steps. When the cat finally disappeared from view, he turned his attention back to Harriet.

"My week has passed satisfactorily. I am adequately prepared to begin teaching. I also find the inherent challenge of imparting my knowledge to others … stimulating."

"Hopefully your students will be appropriately engaged in the material. I know I nearly unenrolled when I realized half the students in one of my classes had failed to read the assigned material."

Spock tilted his head slightly to the left. "As they are willingly attending the Academy, it is logical to presume that they shall be."

Harriet beckoned Spock to enter the small kitchen properly and have a seat at the island. "While that may be logical, I have found that some students are either under prepared or under motivated." Harriet worked the espresso machine until it produced a satisfactorily dark liqueur. "Are you prepared to handle such students?" She proceeded to prepare the milk for frothing.

Spock finally took a seat at the island, arms folding smoothly to rest on the counter. As he considered her question, he seemed as uncertain as Spock ever displayed his uncertainly. "I am not. I will rectify my presumptions and attempt to plan accordingly."

The kettle began to sing and Harriet moved to remove it from the heat. "Are you in the mood for something spicy or something more mellow?"

Thankfully Spock was used to her speech patterns by now and knew how to interpret the question – for all that he probably wouldn't answer it directly. "I do not have a preference." Sigh. 'One day.' She frothed the milk and slowly poured it into her cup, indulging in a bit of artistic design. Humming as she did so, she decided on something spicy, then pulled a stool to the side of the island so she could face Spock as they waited for the water to cool.

"Well, if you have any questions about their behavior, ask. I would like to participate in your effort to determine the best way to respond to them. I often find the motivations of my classmates difficult to understand." She blew lightly on her cappuccino before placing the cup back on the saucer. "In the meantime, tell me about what made your week satisfactory."

Spock considered her, a silent inquiry. She got up and moved the tea service so Spock could easily reach it.

"Details, Spock, I want details."

* * *

"Whhell, what ha-ad happened was…"

"Yes?"

"It's just that, well…"

McCoy was making his impatient face no. 2. 'O boi.'

Harriet quickly huffed out the breath she'd been holding, then proceeded to innocently look up and to the left. "Well, I may or may not have gotten so frustrated I compared him to a green elf, goblin thingy, dropped a tablespoon of that Venus 'fly trap' spice stuff into his tea, and left him all on his lonesome at a table clearly meant for two at a very public eating space." Breathe.

McCoy nearly did a spit take before his permanent scowl dissolved into spurts of gruff, 'manly' laughter. Harriet nervously joined him.

"Right. Too much? Yea, well, I realized that when I was halfway out the door and it's not like I could just turn back around, right? A girl's gotta commit." She sipped her lightly spiked, way too fruity, and truthfully disgustingly colorful drink. It certainly wasn't one of Joe's finest, as she had requested.

For a moment, Bones couldn't find his voice. Finally, he managed to get out a "Yea, sure." He let out a low chuckle, then took another sip of his drink. "The poor guy."

Harriet folded her arms on the bar and put her head down on them. "I don't even know how to begin apologizing. He must be so confused."

Bones ran a hand down his face, smile having turned into a slight smirk. When Harriet remained silent, his expression turned slightly panicky. "You're not actually asking for advice, are you?"

Harriet turned her head to face him, eyes purposely wide, face slightly pouty. Bones started to look mildly uncomfortable, awkward. 'O Bones, if only you knew how easy you make it.'

He made a noise in his throat, hands gripping his drink firmly. "Right, well Orion right? – How the hell did you even make friends with an Orion, a male Orion?" Incredulity face no. 3 – progress. 'Merlin, he cycles through emotions fast.'

"Vulcan."

Bones turned to look at her, drink halfway to his face. "Huh?"

Harriet sat up in her chair and contemplated her offensive drink. "He's a Vulcan."

"A VULCAN?" 'Still no spit take. Merlin and Morgana, what's it gonna take?'

"Yup." She popped the p. "Makes it worse, right?"

She turned enough to get a peak at Bones' face. He appeared to be caught between being outright confused and impressed. He settled for snorting, then taking another sip of his drink. "Bloody hell, Hari, you did that to a Vulcan?" He put his drink down and shook his head. "And I thought Jim was a hand full. Did he even understand what you'd done?"

Harriet sighed dramatically, letting her hair swoop slightly to the right. "I'll have to chuck it up to having been 'emotionally compromised' (cue air quotes). It's a hit to the female of the species that I'm not particularly willing to accept but I just can't find a way to 'logically' (again, air quotes) defend my frustration." She made a fist, propped her head on it, and contemplated other ways to induce a spit take reaction. "Anyway, that was my day. So what'd Jim do this time?"

Bones made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a strangled snort as he contemplated the bottles of liquor on the wall in front of them. "Jim? What hasn't Jim done?"

"Yea but he must have done something particularly annoying and or bold for you to have agreed to a proper drink." Bones gave her an acknowledging head tilt… thing. 'Guys, so few words needed.'

"Jim was Jim. He's gotten it into his head to attempt a training exercise meant for command track hopefuls, called the Kobayashi Maru, a _third_ time. The first two times were bad enough."

Harriet perked up. That was the character exam Spock had worked on, to see how cadets reacted to the no-win scenario. His version would apparently replace last year's version. "Isn't that only for first class midshipmen? How has he taken it two times already?"

"He found a loophole. Apparently, as long as you're not a complete plebe and are on the command track, you can take the exam with the recommendation of your Advisor."

"Your concern? Other than the fact that he's clearly not ready for such a position."

"How he got the recommendation." He brought his drink back up. 'Opportunity.'

"If you're jealous, you could always put the moves on him." 'Choking could count as a partial success, right?' She hit his back a few times. "Easy there. Wouldn't want you to choke before you have a chance to find out if Jim reciprocates."

"Why do I put up with you woman?"

Harriet smiled brightly. "Because in spite of it all, I'm intelligent, not socially inept, and surprisingly sane."

Bones gave her a look that easily conveyed his disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Harriet brings Spocky home to meet Smaug, The Great and Terrible (Can you watch him for the weekend?)(A partial request fulfillment for Anake14); Wha ha-had happened was...; Dialogue, Dialogue, Dialogue!
> 
> Also: Fun story - I don't know how to tag properly... or even if I should add more tags. Suggestions?


	19. Teaching and Learning, Pt II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next take place during the final semester of 2557. The chapter following these two bridges 2557 and 2558 on an unspecified time line (exact dates don't really work well for the general flow).
> 
> This is my take on the songfic. As hard as this was to write, I rather enjoyed the process. All parts are a variation of "Spock is the shznit," "Harriet can't decide if she should be a good wingman/woman," and "Everyone, bar one, is either somewhat confused or amused." Share your thoughts!

_This hit, that ice cold_

_Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold …_

* * *

Spock viewed his teaching efforts as relatively successful. A greater percentage of his students than not were attentive to his lectures. The work that those students submitted for review was also satisfactorily completed. In fact, he had several promising students who he believed would go quite far in their careers if they maintained the current quality of their work.

Naturally, he was also satisfied that he was able to stimulate the minds of those students who were interested in his course material. Actually, he was honored to have the opportunity to help shape their minds.

Yes, Spock was rather proud of his accomplishments as an instructor, then was promptly displeased that he was proud, then displeased that he was displeased.

He took a moment to calm his mind and seek peace within his thoughts.

Yes, his efforts were sufficiently successful. However, it was good that Harriet had reminded him that some of his students would not be as motivated as he was when he was an Academy student. He was not one to easily forget things but he had pushed this point aside as it really didn't make sense why a student would willingly pursue a course of study they were not interested in pursuing. It was illogical.

But, he supposed, it was also illogical for him to hold his students to Vulcan standards when they themselves were not Vulcan. Perhaps his standards were too exacting? No, if more than ten percent of his students could excel under the current conditions and another forty percent fell within what the Academy labeled as 'average,' his standards were adequate.

Perhaps he should offer more supplemental material to aide the remainder of his students? Yes, that would be helpful. It would also provide additional guidance for his other students on how to direct their studies.

Satisfied, Spock went about his day.

* * *

… _Stylin', whilen, livin' it up in the city_

_Got Chucks on with Saint Laurent_

_Gotta kiss myself, I'm so pretty_

* * *

Some of Spock's students, and one in particular, were quite taken with Spock. While it wasn't necessarily rare to see a Vulcan, Spock was currently the only Vulcan who had graduated from the Starfleet Academy and the only Vulcan currently teaching at the Academy. While this was his second semester as a professor, the novelty of having a professor who was not only a native speaker of Vulcan but also had personal experience navigating Vulcan-Human relations, noteworthy experience in the field, and a willingness to teach, humans or otherwise, still hadn't worn off.

Of course, some of his students, generally the less studious ones, were rather … opinionated about him and his teaching abilities but the more academically minded found his classes stimulating. It helped that he was both intelligent and diligent: his lectures were well organized and presented in a logical manner; he knew his material and references thoroughly and didn't hesitate to suggest supplemental reading if desired; he was also a consummate professional: his uniform was sharp, he was well groomed, gave polite if pointed responses, and his office, to any student that bothered to attend office hours, was neat, well organized, and inviting.

Singly, these compliments didn't add up to much. However, combined, they were rarely applied judiciously. Spock was thus a most welcomed double rarity: a Starfleet Vulcan and a good professor.

Starfleet, for their part, was particularly glad to have Spock, even if it meant pulling him from the field for an extended amount of time. In addition to teaching, in an effort to balance the loss, Spock was also conducting some independent research, on par with the research that was conducted at the Vulcan Science Academy, which would be credited to their own institution. The prospect of top students receiving an opportunity to join in on what was sure to be his ground breaking findings was just icing on the proverbial cake.

Taken altogether, it was therefore rather natural that fierce competition to be amongst the top students developed.

* * *

_I'm too hot (hot damn)_

_Called a police and a fireman_

_I'm too hot (hot damn)_

_Make a dragon wanna retire man …_

* * *

Harriet made it a point to stop in on some of Spock's lectures, largely as a show of support, but it helped her practice her still rather rough Vulcan language abilities.

[you're really not that bad for an … adult learner.]

'These comments about my age are really getting rather annoying.'

FOCUS! What she noticed, beyond Spock's relative monotone, was the rather interesting gathering of midshipmen in the class. Of course, they all wore the same uniforms (if in different colors) and most had the same variation of the utilitarian hairstyle favored by Starfleet. However, their posture and facial expressions said a lot more than they probably thought. Particularly that one girl with the _really intense_ expression on her face _all the time, every time._

'That's kind of a bit much, isn't it? I wouldn't call Spock boring to the motivated learner but that's taking concentration a bit far.'

Harriet sat back in her chair at the side of the room. She was well placed, near the middle but toward the edge of the class, so that she could discretely evaluate the pupils as well as the teacher. Not that her discretion mattered. No one could see or hear her anyway, given her rather overpowered, if contained for the sake of the surrounding technology, disillusionment charm.

'Except maybe Spock. Always gotta be an exception, Spockypoo…. I really should start testing more of my theories out at the Vulcan embassy. I'm sure I can find _some_ reason to visit, even if Spock doesn't want to.'

She lightly tapped her stylus on her PADD.

'Maybe this is that student he mentioned – the one at the top of the class?' Had to be. She was _sooo_ invested in everything that was coming out of his mouth. She barely took the time to write notes.

[maybe she doesn't need to]

Harriet's eyes widened fractionally, enough to register her mini epiphany but not enough to draw Spock's attention away from his lecture. 'Calm. Be calm. Just because his top student is this intense, attends all of his lectures, signed up for all of his classes, goes to all of his office hours, and _is female_ doesn't mean anything weird is going to happen

[way to enforce a double standard there]

Shush! (O no! now I'm _responding_ to the voice inside my head!)

[you've been doing so for a while now]

'I'm not saying that because she's female, and waaay dedicated to learning, that she's hot for teacher. I'm just wondering if Spock understands how his … attentions… could be interpreted by student _or_ staff.'

[sure.]

'I am!'

* * *

… _'Cause uptown funk gon' give it to you_

_Saturday night and we in the spot_

_Don't believe me just watch (come on!)…_

* * *

It was Saturday night and they were having dinner at a rather nice, Vulcan approved restaurant in uptown San Francisco. The décor was simple but elegant and the diners dressed to match. The ceiling was high enough for a Vulcan to walk comfortably underneath but not so high as to give the impression of a great open space. The walls, like the tablecloths, were subtle shades of orange and red, reminiscent, if one had been there, of the rocky landscapes of Vulcan.

The tables themselves were high enough for even a rather tall Andorian to sit at comfortably but still low enough to prevent the feeling of being a small child sitting at an adult's table. Comfortably arranged, there was also just enough space between tables to allow patrons to feel suitably surrounded without compromising their privacy, so long as they kept their voices at a reasonable level.

She had actually chosen the restaurant as the next stop on the 'Explore Life and Humanity' train particularly because it was on the Vulcan embassy's list of recommended eating establishments. She had continuously pushed and challenged Spock to explore his human side since that day they had agreed to start their little experiment. However, he was also Vulcan and had challenged her in turn to learn more about what made Vulcans Vulcans. And so, in spite of the topic Harriet was about to discuss, this particular Saturday night, which happened to fall on one of their regularly scheduled Vulcan interludes, was going rather well.

Harriet was dressed for the occasion, even if Spock was dressed as Spock always dressed (although in more complimentary colors and fabrics that _worked_ with each other – Yes, Spock, it matters, thank you very much). As for herself, while it was perhaps not much of a Vulcan fashion statement, she was wearing a long sleeved but loose fitting beige cotton dress with a dark green, sleeveless over robe that she had mysteriously found sitting at the top of her trunk a few days ago. There were several simple interwoven patterns subtly stitched on the dress that were repeated in the deep green head scarf she was using to cover her (mostly) bound curls. While Spock had not commented on the ensemble, he hadn't disapproved, which was a win in Harriet's 'learn to blend in with the Vulcans' book.

They had just finished enjoying the meal when she finally brought it up.

"I find that I need to confirm that you are aware of the boundaries of Student- Teacher relationships Spock."

"I am well aware of my duties as an instructor."

"Yes, and I am also well aware that you are well aware of the Academy's no fraternization rule. However, there is still a point to be made."

"Then what is the point that you wish to make?"

Harriet took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Even if you are aware of your duties as an instructor and both you and your students are aware of the Academy's no fraternization rule … interest in a relationship other than that of student to teacher can still develop."

"While that is … a possibility, it is both highly improbable and unethical."

"Emotions can make things that are improbable more probable than one may have originally estimated."

"… I see. You are suggesting then that such emotions are developing in myself or my students."

"I am suggesting that it is a possibility that you need to analyze and consider further." Harriet paused to allow the waiter to place two desert dishes, and a Vulcan Mocha (!), on the table. When he had left, she continued. "These situations are known to develop, potentially without one party aware that it is developing, and then become … an issue… unexpectedly. It is best, logical, that you know your position in relation to your students before such a situation arises and are prepared to respond appropriately."

* * *

… _Stop, wait a minute_

_Fill my cup, put some liquor in it_

_Take a sip, sign a check_

_Julio, get the stretch …_

* * *

"I really don't get how he doesn't see it." Harriet's head thumped lightly on the other side of the bar, several loose braids landing on the countertop.

"Doesn't see what dear?" Mrs. Thurston was calmly checking the accounts listed on the output reader and preparing to start locking up the café. While she wouldn't call Harriet dramatic per se, she had her moments, usually when she was overly amused or frustrated by one of her friends. Friend _s_. It was worth it really, and generally just all around nice, to see her so engaged in _life_. She had been rather worried in those first few months when Harriet didn't seem to have any friends or family.

"The thin line a professor has to walk on the matter of student-teacher relationships." Harriet groaned.

Mrs. Thurston briefly looked up and gave Harriet a _look_. "Who's treading the line?"

"Spock and he's so Vulcan, he doesn't see the danger." Harriet lifted her head off the counter and ran a hand down her face. "He's so dense, _my_ head hurts."

Mrs. Thurston returned to what she was doing. "How hard is she trying?" She'd witnessed zero emotional range from Spock thus far, so it had to be a student – likely a female student if Harriet was more annoyed than amused. 'O dearie, if only _you_ weren't so dense.'

"It's not blatant. In fact, it's rather subtle. It's just the way she's at _every_ office hour, how attentive she is in _every_ class, _her eyeliner_. It's vaguely stalkerish."

Mrs. Thurston smiled, laugh lines accentuating her face. "You sound a mite bit like a stalker yourself dear. You might want to check that."

Harriet made a face. "I'm not stalking her. I sit in on some of Spock's classes. I also make it a point for him to talk about how his day is going. The topic of his _prize_ students invariably comes up."

"Are you jealous?"

Harriet turned an incredulous face toward her. "…"

Mrs. Thurston outright laughed. "O, don't look at me like that." She finished with the till and passed Harriet the keycard to the coder on the front door. "Here, go lock up. I'll make you a cup of coffee and we can talk about it. Are you a fan of that ole Irish cream?"

"Is it the alcoholic kind?"

* * *

… _If we show up, we gon' show out_

_Smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy_

* * *

It was another one of those Thursday nights where Spock's official obligations coincided with one of their outings. This time, however, the event itself was a more or less open affair that allowed Spock to bring a guest. Of course, he hadn't mentioned that when he'd originally told her the officers were having a 'small get together' on his usual night with her and thus had to reschedule their outing. However, by the time she'd finished teasing the details out of him, she'd already made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she would be attending with him – to observe [pfft].

Actually, it was a rather big deal for Harriet. Just the thought of the whole affair was depressing her 'danger! danger! Will Robinson' button without relief. 'Officers! A whole room of them! Merlin's _soggy_ pants, why am I getting myself involved in this?!'

Truthfully, Harriet saw it as something akin to a midterm exam; if she could attend an officer's party, and stay the whole night _without_ freaking out, she might just be able to stay on ship with the ar* -cough - _people_ for extended periods of time. Sure, she regularly attended classes with the midshipmen but they were currently still wet behind the ears and didn't know a thing about her she didn't want them to know. It was the brass that annoyed and fed her paranoia in equal parts.

'It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you' [but are they though? or are you _letting_ them get to you?]

She had several options. One, she could go as herself and see what happened. From what she'd gathered [*cough hacked *cough use of _legilimens_ without shame or remorse *cough], most of Starfleet wasn't actually read in on her. Given the type of security threat she supposedly posed (and actually they were quite correct she was a threat, even if they underestimated how much), how easily she had evaded them for months, and how she could easily disappear again if she chose, it made sense they would keep what the greater public knew about her to a minimum.

That being said, if she went as herself, there was no going back. Not that it mattered at this point; her attendance at the Academy as a civilian had already put her person on the map so to speak and, if it hadn't, the shenanigans she had planned for the upcoming months would. But showing up as Spock's plus one had implications other than friendship and could have potential long-term consequences, particularly if Starfleet decided to start thinking they could use Spock as a means of controlling her.

'In a way, they already do… To further their false sense of security or not… Or, go just to see their reactions to stick in the mud Spock _having_ a plus one and relish the fact that Spock had no idea what she was plotting … _well_.'

Option 2, she could go under a glamor. Given that only Spock was like to notice, it wasn't a bad idea. Naturally, she'd have to clue Spock in ahead of time. How would his Vulcan sensibilities respond to that little bit of deception?

'It's not like either of us is telling an outright lie… just misrepresenting the truth.' [the difference?] But then everyone would want to know who she was and she'd have to invent an alter ego. 'Hassle.'

Option 3, she could not go at all. 'Huh… why does that feel like it's not really an option?' Was she getting possessive? 'That's a thought.'

Going to the shindig didn't really do anything for her though. In fact, other than exposure, she didn't gain anything.

'Well, maybe a few contacts and some black mail material. And a few smiles and polite conversations go a long way to fostering a false sense of security amongst the top brass.'

But why bother? In the end, she didn't foresee any business opportunities, she didn't really care for Starfleet in general, much less its officer corps, and Spock didn't expect her to accompany him anyways.

'Decisions, decisions.' Sigh. 'The temptation's just too great. Time to do some shopping!' ... Or should she go to the Vulcan embassy again and see if she got inspired?

Either way, she was gonna make oblivious Spocky pocky poo _soooo_ confused. O, Amanda will be _so_ pleased!

* * *

_I'm too hot (hot damn)_

_Called a police and a fireman_

_I'm too hot (hot damn)_

_Make a dragon wanna retire man_

_I'm too hot (hot damn) …_

* * *

'Shenanigans' was exactly what Harriet was up to. Bones couldn't decide if he was horrified or amused as he watched Hari walk along a path to the Sciences building with Spock. On the one hand, when she mentioned she'd befriended a Vulcan, he hadn't suspected it was that thrice damned green blooded hobgoblin Spock. How the hell had that happened? It was unnatural.

It was also unnatural how they could go from being near polar opposites – Hari generally cordial and relaxed to Spock being a bloody emotionless, unyielding prick – to near twins, with Hari becoming suddenly rigid, distant, and all … _logical_.

It seemed she was even getting pretty decent at the language too, which was surprising as all hell – apparently even the best non-native speakers couldn't imitate the accent she was using and it was driving some of the xenolinguistics students mad, especially with her not even being a midshipman.

Then there were those elaborate Vulcan hairstyles she would randomly wear. 'What the hell is she thinking?'

On the other hand, he could see why she found it so amusing. Her open friendship with the Vulcan, and his ease in her presence, continued to surprise the hell out of everyone. For the first few weeks of Hari's 'assault,' even some of the Academy's professors had been left gaping, and that was after rumors of their dating had resurfaced. Resurfaced!

'When the _hell_ had those rumors started the first time?'

Then she had started mimicking him for the apparent hell of it and _Spock either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared._ If any other midshipmen, or hell, professor, had done the same, they would have been issued a severely worded reprimand in conjunction with a mandated remedial race relations sensitivity course.

 _Then_ , she'd convinced Spock to have his lunch with her in the section of the mess hall designated for officers once a week. He wasn't sure how she'd even managed to get in that area but Commander Sylvic's shock when they both sat down with home made lunches was priceless (his food had actually fallen out of his mouth, he was so surprised).

It was carefully planned mayhem. If she'd done it all at once, it might not have become the ongoing cinema worthy drama that was regularly fueling campus gossip. No, instead she had to do it in carefully planned stages meant to both insinuate the inferiority of the midshipmen and terrorize Spock. Of course, she'd called it helping him seem more approachable but his bet was on the 'green blooded elf' not understanding, and surely not appreciating in the least, why more students and teachers were attempting to reach out to him.

'At least she had the decency to warn me before hand.' He was still curious why she was targeting the midshipmen though. Bones snorted and continued on to his next lab.

'Women.'

* * *

… _Before we leave_

_Lemmi tell y'all a lil' something …_

* * *

"Mother."

"Spock! I find that I have been enjoying many of your calls lately." She was always delighted when her son called her, especially of late. Her son's confusion surrounding Hari was amusing and while she enjoyed getting updates from the girl, she particularly enjoyed seeing the expressions her son tried so hard to hide cross his face.

"Lately, I have regularly found myself in need of guidance regarding Terran behavior."

"Is this in regards to the experiment you are pursuing with Hari?"

"I… have no definitive answer to your question."

Oh? "How so?"

"The answer in some aspects is yes and, in others, no. Yes, Harriet's efforts to explore the depths of life and humanity have been instructive and have been the source of many stimulating conversations regarding human behavior. It has likewise been instructive to share the results of these conversations with you and to have your input. It is also possible that the topic I wish to discuss is directly related to this endeavor."

"But?"

"The answer is also no. My current inquiry surrounds Harriet's recent behavior in particular. I am unable to see how her efforts advance our endeavors."

"Oh? What has she done?" This was going to be good. Hari had already given her an overview of "Operation: Spocktastic" but she hadn't given her any details. Hari had only stated that she would eventually send pictures.

"She has done many things. Individually they are not all significant as I have noted that Harriet often indulges in activities for the sake of eliciting particular reactions."

"However?"

"It seems as though her efforts have been doubled or perhaps she is attempting to evoke more complex responses."

She gave Spock a slow, mischievous smile. "My son, I cannot help you assess her actions if I do not know what she has done."

"She has stated that she is making an effort to make me more approachable. However, I suspect that is not her true motive. So far, she has made marked efforts to engage with me in full view of the Academy's body where before she preferred to engage in interactions in locations that were distant from the Academy. She also insisted on attending a formal officer's event with me where she made it a point to greet most of the staff, including my new commanding officer, Captain Pike. Further, in addition to attempting to speak the language more fluently, her efforts to increase her understanding of Vulcan culture … have become more pronounced."

She couldn't help but let out a small laugh, thoroughly amused with her son's confusion and Hari's antics. "Ah, yes, she asked me some time ago to send her some sketches of Vulcan women's fashion and hairstyles. I take it she has been putting them to good use?" 'Don't laugh more. He won't appreciate it.'

"… I cannot say."

"Do you find her or her efforts displeasing?"

Spock frowned ever so slightly. "I cannot say they are displeasing" Ha! "But I do not see how that relates to understanding the motives behind her actions."

Her eyes had to be outright twinkling by this point. "Have you ever considered that she may just enjoy confusing your cohorts and students for the pleasure of it?" 'Or that perhaps she's claiming her territory?' She personally hoped it was a mixture of both.

"To what end?"

She hummed. "That is a good question. Have you considered asking her that question specifically?"

"… I do not believe she will answer it." He was right – Hari would probably just laugh and keep at it. Hari was hard to pin down but she would have to start questioning her more pointedly herself. But first, she needed details.

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning Spock. I believe I have allocated sufficient time for your call."

* * *

_Come on, dance_

_Jump on it_

_If you sexy then flaunt it_

_Well it's Saturday night and we in the spot_

_Don't believe me just watch, come on!_

* * *

Regardless of the reasons behind Harriet's actions, at least one First-class midshipmen, one Nyota Uhura, remained undeterred. As the saying once went: Bring It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: SongFic: Uptown Funk (Mark Ronson/Bruno Mars); 4,000 words (I dare ya!)
> 
> To those of you who asked or were wondering, it's debatable if Harriet actually did to Spock what she told McCoy she did in the last chapter but the primary reason she mentioned it was to get a reaction. Details, well, details at that point are totally optional.


	20. Alternative Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There may be some triggers (mentions of war and gore, death of children, poor coping). I cried while writing this chapter. 
> 
> In fact, this chapter is quite somber and, as such, is a reminder that all is not well in Harriet-Land. It also gives some insight on why she tries to fill her time with things that amuse her. The next chapter will be lighter.

Harriet was quiet – too quiet. She was sitting up straight, chair angled toward the window, slight bags under her eyes and hair slightly disarrayed. Her clothing was not coordinated and looked slightly wrinkled, her earrings were mix matched, and her flats had mud of some sort crusted on their bottoms. Harriet was never this distracted, never this poorly put together.

Even her cappuccino, most likely tepid (if not completely cooled), lay on the table between her hands, untouched. Harriet never let coffee go to waste. Never.

Mrs. Thurston was therefore worried, worried enough that she was considering calling that Spock fellow, or perhaps that other friend of hers – McCoy something or other. After much prodding, Harriet had left contact information for both, just in case. This might be one of those times… it had after all, been a solid two hours since she had come in to sit at her corner table, on a day she normally would have been working, and the somber air surrounding her had yet to lessen.

Something had happened and it had to have been something bad.

* * *

Harriet herself was lost in her own thoughts and memories. She'd had a rough night, one that had not lent itself to her having a restful sleep.

" _His vitals are falling! I can't stop the bleeding! Where's the bloody dittany!"_

She engaged in her 'side business' as an alternative healer for various reasons and it wasn't because she had a 'saving people' thing. No, she'd been disillusioned to the idea that the well being of others should be her top priority. The fact was, when you lived a life as unpredictable and morbid and disjointed and long, so long as hers, there were only so many constants and it was the constants that kept her sane.

" _His arm! What the hell happened to his arm?! I can't summon all of the pieces!"_

But that was not quite correct either. There was more than just the consistency that coffee and the healing profession provided. The root of the drive to heal was buried in a realization that she had come to long ago: that she was Death and Death was her and no one escaped Death, no one but her.

_Gore. Death. Destruction. Bodies as far as the eye can see, blood drenching her hands, hair, clothing, everywhere._

So no, she didn't engage in healing to satisfy her now mostly dormant 'saving people' thing. She pursued the field mostly as a way of achieving balance for all the lives she had taken, had caused to be taken, had felt the loss of via her connection with Death, or had failed to save.

_Diagnostic charm. Open the airway. Check for exit wounds. Slow the bleeding. Why the hell couldn't she conjure magical ingredients on this damn planet!_

Battlefield trauma was what it was; there was no sugarcoating war and its costs, particularly when you played a prominent role in assuring the other side's ruin, step by step, piece by piece. Life by life. It was what it was and, to some extent, Harriet had achieved a level of morbid peace with that reality that forced her to now carefully weigh both her physical and mental ability to weather conflicts before she engaged in the moral debate of whose side, if any, she would support.

_Empty eyes, rubble, small bodies. A school? An orphanage? A children's ward? The sick she felt wouldn't stop, even after her stomach had emptied and her body had failed._

But children – children were the worst. In spite of her experience with both sides of the coin, the idea of child soldiers still made her sick. She'd never been able to reconcile her mind with that atrocity or the tragedy of collateral damage, regardless of whether it was intentional or accidental.

_Slight smiles, tired but happy eyes. Peace with an end that came too soon. No medicine or spells or pleading to stall Death's embrace._

It was the children that always got to her. The children who died in her care during peacetime brought their own pain and turmoil and unrelenting heartache. No matter how prepared she thought she was, no matter the realistic expectations she offered the families, the support she tried to provide them when she had exhausted all of her options and her imagination, she herself was never truly prepared and never would be.

_A brightly colored ball. Toys. Stuffed unicorns and bears. Incessant beeping._

She was never prepared. Still, she pursued the field and always fought her hardest for her clients who were always more than just clients or patients. Still, she continued on, in spite of the tiredness, because there was always a chance that _this_ time, she would make a difference, would change a life.

_Flat lines. The warm, welcoming embrace of Death. A new beginning, a new chance._

It was a hard, tough thing to weather but regardless of how heartless it seemed, she would take the time her mental health required, then she would continue on to the next patient, continue fighting the so called good fight.

For now though, she would mourn.

* * *

It was that Spock fellow that got back with her first. She didn't particularly care for the … 'Vulcan, we're gonna be polite and go with Vulcan' … but regardless of what she thought of his personality, he was reliable and he was the closest thing to family Harriet had.

"Mrs. Thurston, you said that you were concerned for Harriet's health. Where is she?"

"She's here at the shop for now. As I said, I'm not sure what's happened but something's not right. She was trembling for a bit, then she began crying. She wasn't making any noise but I definitely saw tears coming down her face. She hasn't drunk any of her coffee, she looks like a mess, and won't respond to any of my questions. I'm worried."

"I will be there in approximately eighteen minutes. Please continue to monitor her."

"Of course."

* * *

As Bones left yet another exasperating shift at Medical, his last for the day, he began to reflect on Hari and her 'teas.' Ever since Hari had brought up the idea of 'alternative' medicine, Bones had begun to staunchly construct as many defenses of the science and advanced capabilities of his profession as he could. As generally bad tempered as he was, he was a doctor for a reason and he knew his craft. Yet Hari continued to surprise him with her low tech, plant based, so called 'herbal' remedies that she presented him with and he was beginning to suspect that there may be more to it than she let on.

Simple herbal remedies were written off centuries ago as less effective than Starfleet's advanced understanding of organic chemistry, molecular biology, interstellar immunology, and countless other fields. Still, she managed to create alternative, targeted treatments without the use of nanites, known pain relievers, artificially created macro- or micro-nutrients, and no manner of direct delivery other than ingestion, which shouldn't transport the medicine nearly as quickly as the affects were sometimes felt.

Hari did, however, have enough of a medical science background to get into the Academy's medical practicals. So there was a possibility her herbal remedies weren't strictly herbal. But she wasn't a licensed doctor so she couldn't have access to a pharmacy or a lab. How was she getting access to her raw material? Surely she didn't grow or cultivate them herself – she couldn't have the resources. If she did, she wouldn't be studying as a civilian at the Academy.

'Unless there's some special arrangement I'm missing here.'

Given her rather strange relationship with Spock, that was a possibility. Perhaps they were pursuing a private strain of research for the Academy or Starfleet? But why not attend the Academy as a Research Fellow then? Why was she a student when her remedies were so effective? And how did she manage to attend without signing her life away?

His best bet was probably to just ask her out right. Knowing Hari though, she'd probably give some enigmatic answer and subtly redirect the conversation. She was good at that, good enough that he sometimes didn't notice she'd done it until afterward.

Just as he was thinking that he'd have to figure out a way to bring it up with her without being waylaid, his PADD beeped, indicating he had a voice message.

* * *

Harriet was still staring silently out the window when Spock arrived. He quietly took a seat opposite of her and assessed her apparent condition. As nothing appeared to be overtly wrong with her and showed no other signs of illness, he determined that the problem was internal. What he could not determine was whether or not the malady was physical or mental.

As she was not showing any overt signs other than red eyes, indicative of recent lacrimation, and slight discoloration around the eyes, indicative of poor sleep, he settled into his seat and calmed his mind, soothing away the strange sense of worry and relief that had welled up within him.

That task accomplished, he considered his options. If it was an internal malady, it was important to address the issue as soon as possible. If it was mental … if it was trauma, it was best that he take her to a counselor in order for her to receive the appropriate treatment. If it was not trauma … he was not sure how to proceed.

He had no inclination to delve into the world of female emotions.

* * *

Harriet was still vaguely lost in her own personal version of hell when she finally noticed Spock's presence. His reflection in the glass indicated that he was conflicted but she wasn't sure about what. She didn't turn to face him, didn't acknowledge his presence, and didn't change her position. Instead, she blinked for the first time in what had to have been a minute and continued to contemplate her fate.

* * *

Bones entered the café only thirteen minutes after Spock had arrived. He'd had to call a ground car to get him there and he was still in uniform but he was there. He walked quickly through the automatic door and headed to the bar, looking for Harriet. When the café owner, Mrs. Thurston, caught his eye, she quickly pointed to a corner table near the glass window.

Of course, that damned Spock was already there.

Registering that she wasn't in hysterics or bloody or bandaged, he walked up to the proprietress instead of rushing over to Hari's side.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Just like I told that Spock, I'm not sure what's happened. She looked like she was in some form of shock, crying off and on quietly, not even touching her coffee – and you know how she is about her coffee – and just look at her, she's never this disheveled. Something's wrong."

"Has she said anything?"

"Not a word, not even to Spock as far as I can tell. Maybe you can reach out to her?"

Bones nodded his head curtly and quietly made his way over to Hari's table, grabbing a third chair as he neared. He wasn't sure if he should settle in for a wait like Spock – which was surreal seeing him be so supportive – or if he should go straight into doctor mode.

He settled for the latter.

* * *

"Hari?" a quiet but gruff voice asked. Harriet, having recently come out of her near catatonic state, registered the voice as belonging to Bones. When had he gotten there?

In the window, she saw Spock shoot Bones a mild look that she was sure he ignored.

"Hari, as a physician I'm asking if anything's wrong."

Harriet supposed he was right to approach her that way. Even so, she wasn't in the mood to answer. She mentally sighed. 'But talking is generally cathartic.' Was she ready to be so open and honest?

Bones shifted in his seat.

After several minutes, he quietly muttered: "Damn it Harriet, you're even worrying the emotionally stunted Vulcan."

Harriet let a small smile flit across her lips; Spock probably wouldn't take that well, not that he'd give any indication of his irritation.

She finally turned and gave them a slight, wavering smile. "Spock. Bones" she acknowledged quietly.

"Harriet." Spock was always so patient.

* * *

Bones, having finally gotten a good look at her, as ever went for the blunt approach. "Hari, you look like shit. What happened?"

She let out a quiet snort, mostly air blowing lightly through her nose with no other sound. She sat back in her chair, hands gripping the cold cappuccino in front of her tighter.

"I didn't mean to worry you," she said softly, intense green eyes glistening. She looked out the window again. "It's just been a while since I've lost a patient."

Bones sat back in his chair, stunned and horrified in equal measure. 'Hell.' How did he approach that topic? Losses in this day and age were statistically very low.

Wait, since when did she have patients?

" _A drink won't help."_

" _I'm a doctor. I know it will."_

" _I'm a practicing physician. I know it won't."_

'Well damn.'

Suddenly he wasn't so sure he knew her as well as he thought.

* * *

With Harriet, Spock knew that patience generally led to more satisfactory, honest results than rushing forward with his conclusions or questions. He had known Harriet was a practitioner of what she termed 'alternative' medicine; he had been there at the hospital approximately a year and three months ago when she had been standing outside a child's intensive care unit at Starfleet Medical. It was a logical extrapolation then that she dealt with high risk patients or patients with advanced illnesses.

He had also known that Harriet's 'business' wasn't strictly legal; she didn't have a doctor's license, her general paperwork was falsified if only because he knew personally she had not originally possessed it, she never brought up the topic of her patients, and no one ever overtly called on her for her services.

What he didn't know, and now considered a glaring oversight, was the break down of those patients into age groups and classifications.

A doctor who dealt with patients with advanced stages of illness was generally worn down faster than those who practiced other forms of medicine. In terms of percentages, 'burnout' was more prevalent amongst doctors in the earlier stages of their careers and lifestyle management techniques were critical to preventing fatigue.

Spock, however, was relatively sure Harriet had been practicing medicine for longer than her apparent age suggested. In fact, he was ninety three percent sure, with a margin of error of about three percent, that her race, while humanoid in appearance, was much longer lived than humans, and possibly Vulcans, than she had previously hinted at; perhaps whole generations or life spans longer.

Likewise, from personal experience, he was relatively certain Harriet led a more 'balanced' lifestyle than he himself. He was not a counselor, therefore he could not assert his opinion with a higher degree of certainty, but she was engaged in various activities that stimulated her mind outside of the medical field, engaged in dialogue with 'friends' and acquaintances, and occupied her time with pursuits that she likely enjoyed.

Therefore the question of the type of patients she worked with was more pertinent than _how_ she worked on them – he was sure by this point that her abilities went beyond manipulating her environment as she had suggested in that first month after their second meeting. On that note, another pertinent question was the _toll_ such methods took on her person.

* * *

When Harriet failed to continue after several minutes, Spock pushed the conversation that needed to happen. "In this situation, it is perhaps appropriate to suggest that you speak with a Counselor."

Harriet sent Spock a look that easily conveyed both her disbelief and her disapproval at his suggestion. "There is no one to speak to Spock, as you are well aware."

Bones looked between the two, clearly missing the subtext, before settling his gaze back on Harriet. "Why the hell not?"

Harriet frowned at him tiredly. "There just isn't. And I'm happy with that."

Bones' face was disapproving. "It's important to talk about these things Hari, especially if this isn't the first time this has happened."

Harriet sighed and looked down into her coffee. "It's not the first time and it won't be the last."

"A child, then," Spock stated more than asked. Bones' eyebrows shot up.

"A child?"

"A child," Harriet confirmed eventually. "It happens, I know it does." She looked back up, nostrils flaring as she tried to keep herself together. "And I know I did everything that I could do but it always hurts when it happens and it always will."

"Harriet, how… I thought you only dealt in herbal remedies."

Harriet let out a forceful breath and smiled sadly at Bones. "I do. But you have to understand Bones, sometimes modern medicine just isn't enough." She pushed an errant curl behind her ear and looked back out the window. "Usually, they get to me before the prospective patient is too critical but sometimes… sometimes they don't."

Spock drew on a piece of information from one of the briefings on Harriet's occasional sightings at Starfleet Medical and other local hospitals. "Your success rate amongst critical patients with unfavorable diagnoses is relatively high."

Harriet's eyes widened briefly, before she shook her head. "No, I shouldn't be surprised that you know that. My visits to Starfleet Medical?"

"And other hospitals throughout San Francisco."

"I'd really like to know how you got that information."

"It was compiled from a list of recovered patients whose families stated they had sought a second opinion yet had no record of treatment between their removal from the hospital and their recovery."

Bones may as well have been catching flies; his jaw hadn't dropped but his mouth had been open long enough to allow for it. Harriet idly tapped the sides of her cup.

"I just need time to recover." She took a fortifying breath. "I will, eventually, I will. Just … give me time to deal with it."

Bones recovered. "Right. Well, the first thing they teach you if you'd bothered to attend any of those classes is to acknowledge you did all that was in your power to do. Do you actually believe yourself when you say that's the case?"

Harriet looked at him before reluctantly admitting, "vaguely."

"Right. Well the next step is to compartmentalize. How's that going?"

Harriet tilted her head, the tired expression on her face intensifying. "It's going."

"The next thing then is to find a healthy coping mechanism. Why the hell can't you speak with a counselor?"

"In short? I have issues with authority."

"All Academy students have access to counselors, particularly those students in high stress fields. Use them."

"They will not harm you Harriet," Spock interjected. "You already have an agreement in place with Starfleet Command and counselors are bound by patient confidentiality agreements."

"But are they Spock? You of all people know I want nothing more to do with Starfleet than absolutely necessary."

"Then why the hell did you join the Academy?"

Harriet snorted properly. "I didn't. Attendance was a compromise of sorts."

"Between who?" Bones asked, then added "and what the hell for?"

Harriet sighed and sat back in her chair, eyes once more pinned on her cup. "Let's just say me and Starfleet have had a few run ins. Joining the Academy as a civilian was partially clemency on their part and partially an act of good faith on mine." She looked off to the side. "Honestly, if it weren't for Spock, I'd've gone full cloak over a year ago, or, at the very least 'de-badged' myself."

Spock raised an eyebrow at that but otherwise remained silent.

Bones gave Harriet a look that was equal parts confused, disbelieving, and stumped. "Well Hell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Memento Mori


	21. Coping

**1\. Roasting**

Harriet had to wonder about her coping mechanisms. Predictably, given her life and her experience, she had several but given one of her coping mechanisms was the source of her current melancholy, she'd have to pick another one.

Naturally, her second favorite go to was coffee: _the nectar of the gods_.

So two problems: first, quiet contemplation over a cup of heaven wasn't really working in her favor at the moment and, second, did she believe in a god or gods? Faith, after all, was supposed to be another pillar of support as one underwent the grieving process.

But back to that later. Or never. It was really rather confusing to address that particular topic when Death was an animate, if incorporeal, being that had its own way of viewing and interacting with the world.

Now, back to coffee, the Hero Water of this existence. Right, well, on the matter of coffee, there were a variety of coffee related activities that she could indulge in that produced a more zen like state than quiet contemplation over a cup of Mrs. Thurston's finest – one of which was roasting.

Mrs. Thurston didn't have an old-style industrial drum roaster so Harriet had invested in a home use hot air roaster for her. Then, she'd set up a small area in the back where she could sort through a small batch of a fresh sampler bag of green beans and experiment to her heart's content. Even though she only made small batches and limited sales, she enjoyed those mornings where she got to play with the various flavor profiles she could create.

She loved watching the beans begin to yellow, emitting a fresh, grassy smell, as it then began to steam ever so slightly as the bean's water content dissipated. The sound of the first crack, the sign that the roasting is well and truly underway, also never failed to make her smile, even as she slowly breathed in that City Roast smell.

When it struck her fancy, there were also times when she continued the roasting process and went for that second, satisfying _crack_ that heralded the arrival of what was sure to be a beautiful Vienna. Sometimes, the sound of the potential shrapnel, those pieces of bean that were blown away during that second, resounding crack, brought her out of her reverie, but that little jump of surprise that always caught her slightly off guard made her smile just a bit more.

Today, she was going just beyond the beginning of the second crack, allowing the roast to become dark and attempting to achieve what would have previously been considered a full French Roast. The smell became more pungent as the sugars in the beans burned completely but the challenge of finding that sweet spot between a successful darkening and the failure of the charcoal stage appealed to her.

Once the beans reached that stage, she would remove them from the heat and allow them to cool completely. Then, the beans would rest for another five to eight hours in a loosely closed container to allow for peak flavor and body resting. And, by the end of the day, or perhaps tomorrow, she and Mrs. Thurston would indulge in those first few cups and discuss.

But for now, she was so fully engrossed in the experience of roasting that thoughts of faith, support groups, and grieving were temporarily forgotten and life was brighter for it.

* * *

**2\. The Green Machine**

Bones' coping mechanisms were no better or worse than her own. She could tell, even though he had never mentioned it, that whatever had happened to make him so disillusioned toward the world and life hadn't been properly dealt with and that he was likely still grieving. Yet he neither indulged in debauchery nor excessive drink and for Harriet that was enough.

For that matter, as far as Harriet was concerned, being able to lean on one's friends during times of need was not only the mark of a solid friendship but also a sign of one's willingness to move forward.

So, while it wasn't exactly the norm, she'd called Bones and asked him to join her at Joe's, knowing he wouldn't allow her to wallow or get into her cups. When he showed up, punctual as usual, in a leather jacket and jeans, he was as happy at seeing her in a bar as she had expected (as in, not at all).

"You shouldn't be here."

"Generally, I wouldn't be but I needed to get out of the house."

Bones gave her a look over before he took a seat at the bar. "Are you at least taking care of yourself?"

"Yes." O, she knew the game. She was actually more surprised Bones had it in him to use some of his psychology training. Best to get it over with.

Harriet began ticking points off on her fingers. "I'm taking care of my body (Physical Illness), I'm eating proper meals, not too much, not too little (Balance Eating), with exception of the drink I'm having tonight, I'm avoiding mood-altering substances (Avoid Mood-Altering Substances), I'm sleeping, if not necessarily well (Balance Sleep), and I've kept up my usual exercise routine (Get Exercise)." And taking her anger out on training dummies was perfectly acceptable, thank you. "So PLEASE don't run down the list on me."

He huffed. "I'm a Doctor. I at least have to ask."

"Right, well you did." Really, she should have expected this but hey, it was another sign that Bones was good people. "So, now it's your turn to be a terrible doctor and engage me in some distraction."

McCoy exhaled hard. "Right, let me get us a drink first."

After he ordered and the drinks had arrived, Harriet plopped her head on her fist and looked at him expectantly.

He gave her a rather unimpressed look. "So what was that emotionless hobgoblin going on about? About having an agreement in place with Starfleet Command?"

"Hmmm." Harriet idly sipped her drink. 'Go figure, it's non-alcoholic.' She sighed – Bones was taking this too seriously [as he should]. "They essentially want me to consider a career as a Starfleet civilian." Mostly anyway.

"In what field?"

"At this point, I'm not entirely sure. Spock's suggested medicine."

McCoy studied her face for a moment. "Are you licensed?"

"Technically? Yes, just not here." She shrugged. "But that's part of the reason they allowed me to sign up for medical classes at the Academy. Once I'm done with the courses, they'll update my profile. And, as implied earlier, they keep tabs on me." At least they tried.

McCoy's face tightened. "So it was less of a compromise and more of a requirement for staying on the right side of the law."

"Not quite. They have very little legal standing and while I've avoided the law, they have nothing on me that _proves_ I broke it. So compromise is still probably the best word for it."

"Why Starfleet then?"

Harriet shrugged again. "In short? Spock." McCoy, holding his drink partially to his face, gave her another look. Harriet let out a small laugh. "Don't look at me like that. He grows on you. Really! He does."

Personally, she thought McCoy's face, as usual, conveyed both his disbelief and disgust rather well.

"At any rate, as payment for attending the Academy, I owe Starfleet some of my time. They had a specific role in mind but given how impractical it is, I'd rather shoot for Medical."

"Even though you don't trust them with your own health?"

"I'm quite healthy, thank you."

McCoy clearly didn't believe her but she had expected that.

What she hadn't expected was the off-duty midshipmen that had rather surprisingly found their wayward way into Joe's bar, and subsequently, by way of a rather green redheaded female (Orion's were rather distinctive that way) to them.

Just after she'd ordered seven rather strong drinks, the Orion turned and spotted McCoy. "McCoy! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Stars Bless." Harriet idly wondered if he was as immune to her pheromones as she was or if the female was on some sort of blocker regime. Considering some of the looks she was getting from the other patrons, she guessed it was some version of the former.

"And who's this? I'm Gaila." She shot a brilliant smile over McCoy's head and extended a hand towards her behind his back.

Harriet raised an eyebrow: this woman steamrolled like a master. However, before McCoy could say anything, she said: "Call me Luna," and politely shook her hand. Thankfully, Bones kept his face as annoyed as it generally was and didn't comment.

"Nice to meet you Luna!" She briefly looked over her shoulder as Bones muttered something uncomplimentary into his drink. "Hey! Uhura, Sophia, McCoy's here."

Harriet looked briefly over her shoulder in the direction Gaila had turned and spotted, 'Well, well. If it isn't Spock's favorite student… I wonder how this will play out.' The other woman had to be Sophia then.

Harriet, rather upset that her coping session had been interrupted, but still interested in seeing how Spock's student responded to her presence, turned back to McCoy and quietly asked: "Bones, how do you know these people?"

The Orion answered before he had a chance to respond. "O, I know him through Kirk; they're friends."

She vaguely heard him mutter "Damn Jim." And if looks could shatter glass, McCoy would have been without a drink.

"Uhura, Sophia, you know McCoy right? He's one of the doctors attending the Academy and this is his friend Luna!" Her attention swiveled back to them. "Or are you two dating?"

"What? No. What gave you _that_ impression?" Bones was clearly _not_ as mildly amused by the question as Harriet was.

"Wait, I think I've seen you before. Are you a cadet?" So Sophia was just as unconcerned about crashing their quiet night as Gaila was then.

"I attend a few classes at the Academy, yes."

"O! I think I've seen you around campus before. You're the one that doesn't wear the standard uniform, right?"

Gaila's face lit up even more, if that was possible. "Really? That's you?" Harriet was quickly being reminded of why she didn't spend more time than she had to around cadets. She hummed noncommittally. "How did you get an exemption?"

Harriet, bemused, and sorely tempted to join McCoy's silent attempt to make it all go away, stated quite blandly: "I'm not a cadet."

"So you can wear anything you want!?" Merlin, this woman was perky. She was rather surprised - [be polite] … Uhura was beginning to look impatient given how she hadn't said anything yet.

"So why do you wear the same beige get up everyday? You could just wear civilian clothes."

"I could." 'Why is Uhura sticking around? Is she scoping out the competition? Ha! How cute!'

Gaila had a look of concentration on her face. "Wait, does that mean you're that civilian that's dating Commander Spock?" [you didn't even bait her!] Her smile brightened even as she nudged McCoy to say: "Didn't know you were into taken women McCoy."

"I'm not," he gruffed out. "We're just two friends trying to have a drink in peace."

"Sure."

"So how long have you and the Commander been dating?"

Harriet palmed her drink and then tilted her head to the side. 'Bingo!' She mentally rubbed her hands together in anticipation. 'That's why she's still around! How to play this?' How could she protect Spock? [Sure. What other motivation could you have?]

"Spock and I have known each other for a long time."

"I think it's kind of cute." It was nice that Gaila was so reliable in filling in gaps with her own assumptions. "You make him homemade lunches right?"

"Uhn, I do." Uhura was starting to lose her stoicism. Thankfully for her, the bartender chose that time to present Gaila with the drinks she had ordered. ('No! So much more fun to be had!') Galia passed a few to Sophia and Uhura and took the rest herself.

"Well, we can't keep the others waiting too long but don't be a stranger. If you're ever interested in having some fun time with us girls, come find me!" And with that, the three girls headed back to their table.

"Thank the heavens." McCoy put his drink down. "You realize everyone's going to think you just confirmed that you're dating Spock right?"

Harriet gave him a wink closely followed by a mischievous smile. "Just think of how confused he'll be when someone finally gets around to asking him."

McCoy suddenly looked weary. "You're a terrible woman."

"Why thank you."

* * *

**3\. The Vulcan Approach**

Harriet was sitting with Spock in his apartment, sharing a quiet cup of Vulcan spice tea (bah!) at his dining table. She'd brought Smaug along and the feline was shamelessly exploring the Vulcan's space as if he owned it ("He needs to get out more! And your house needs a touch more chaos.").

Really, it didn't take a genius to figure out Spock was a poor substitute for a counselor and she should have expected that Spock wouldn't leave the topic be. However, he was a good distraction and she was prepared to have the conversation he wanted to have if it meant settling the issue that was silently stewing between them.

Of course, it helped that Harriet could use some more of her knowledge of psychotherapy to cope with her evolving situation, both in terms of herself and her relationship with Spock.

She wondered how well it would work on a half Vulcan. 'No time like the present.'

As they finished their tea (double bah!), she decided on her approach.

_Direct Approach, Steps 1-3:_ _D_ _escribe the situation,_ _E_ _xpress your feelings, and_ _A_ _ssert wishes._

"Spock, I need to spend some more time out of the house and you're one of the three people I enjoy spending my free time with. Spending time with people I enjoy being around helps me cope more than seeing a counselor does. While I appreciate that you feel uncomfortable filling this role, I'm beginning to feel like you don't value our friendship. I want you to consider what I'm asking from a non-Vulcan perspective and accept that I'll be over your apartment more often." [too many feels.]

Spock maintained his stoic expression, arms folded on top of each other, considering her words from the other side of the table before he responded.

"I understand that you are attempting to cope more effectively. However, seeing a counselor is the optimal solution. I do not see how our… friendship… is negatively impacted by this assertion."

_Steps 4-7:_ _R_ _einforce, (stay)_ _M_ _indful,_ _A_ _ppear confident, and_ _N_ _egotiate._

Proper, open posture was important to giving a more confident impression so Harriet inhaled and simultaneously, subtly drew herself up to her full seated height and kept her voice firm and even without a hint of confrontation.

"You may view it as the optimal solution but, given how I feel about Starfleet and my general unwillingness to go, it would actually result in more stress." Spock was unmoved. [still too many feels] "Surely there is an alternative option that we can both agree on Spock."

Spock's face opened up a bit more.

"What if I agree to check in with you regularly? That way you could at least ascertain whether I am doing more harm than good to myself and I can spend more time with you."

"I have already mentioned that I am not a counselor."

"That doesn't mean you aren't equipped to handle some light evaluation. If I were one of your crew and a counselor wasn't immediately available, how would you help them cope?"

_Support Primary Approach, steps 1-4: (be)_ _G_ _entle, (act)_ _I_ _nterested,_ _V_ _alidate the other's feelings/wants, (use an)_ _E_ _asy manner_

"That is not the situation with which we find ourselves."

Gently, she replied: "And yet I find it relevant as I do not believe an appropriate counselor is available. Help me understand why you insist on something that I've not engaged in for decades." Opps! Bloody hell, she hadn't meant to let that slip. She rushed on, hoping to distract. [Pointless.] "What I mean to say is that I understand why you insist but I'm just not comfortable with them, so kindly help me find a compromise."

Spock's eyes had widened ever so at her slip but now they narrowed slightly. "A compromise … would be acceptable. However, I do not believe I can adequately assess your recovery."

"But you know me well enough to adequately assess whether I am emotionally compromised to the point of being unable to function effectively, right? That is all that is needed." She laughed light heartedly. "Well, well enough to know when I'm having one of my typical emotional outbursts versus when I genuinely have a difficult day; your response to my state at the shop is proof enough of that."

An eyebrow rose just so as he briefly considered her.

"Have you considered meditation?"

She cocked her head. "What kind of meditation?"

Harriet left approximately an hour later, quite content with the calm that meditation inspired, conveniently carrying a Smaug-less cat carrier with a knowing smile.

* * *

**4\. A Mother's Approach**

Amanda, now quite close to Hari, and slightly dependent on her updates regarding her son, was happy to receive her call. She was pleased to note Hari was wearing another Vulcan inspired hairstyle that she wore quite well. However, she became a bit worried when the girl hesitated ever so slightly after they shared opening pleasantries.

Of all the things that Harriet could have been concerned about, however, she hadn't quite been expecting this one.

"Amanda, I'm pretty sure now that one of Spock's students is more than academically inclined toward him."

"Oh? Is Spock aware of it?"

"It's difficult to say as he's yet to mention anything. Should I ask him about it? Should we be worried?"

Seeing her opportunity, she smiled. "I think the better question is whether or not _you_ are worried?"

Harriet bit her lip, somewhat indecisive, then sighed. "If I'm honest, yes, I am."

Hope now firmly renewed, she asked a deceptively simple question: "Why?"

Harriet leaned back from the console. "Hmm, I'm concerned for him. If things continue this way, it would put his career in jeopardy."

With a motherly smile, she asked a second deceptively simple question: "Is that all?"

Harriet frowned. "What do you mean?"

Amanda let out a soft huff. "I'm asking, Hari dear, if his career is the only thing you're concerned about?" In the wake of Hari's continued, somewhat confused silence, she continued with a light smile and mischief in her eye. "Are you perhaps concerned about how a relationship with this other woman would affect your own relationship with Spock?"

Harriet's eyes widened. "Wha-!"

Amanda raised a hand and cut her off. "Think on it before you respond. You and Spock have a very close relationship Hari, one which I believe may be teetering on the other side of friendship and something more intimate." Harriet's eyes were like saucers. Amanda chuckled, not unkindly. "You don't have to tell me what you find as a result but think on it." She smiled softly. "Now, why did Spock send me a message asking after your well being? Did something happen?"

Harriet's jaw worked before she visibly gathered herself. Even then, she still stuttered out her response. Amanda found it all rather cute until she finished her sentence. "He, ah, well, he's concerned because I, ah, won't go see a counselor about, ah, something."

She frowned in worry. "It must have been serious if he thinks you should see a counselor." Or it could be that her son simply didn't know how to handle the emotional side of whatever Harriet had gone through.

Harriet shook her head slowly, still slightly off kilter. "I suppose, well…" Harriet sighed.

"If it's too difficult to discuss, then we can pursue a different topic." She frowned worriedly. "However, if that is the case, then I, too, would also suggest you speak with a counselor."

Harriet looked off to the side briefly before taking a deep breath. "No, no, it's not too difficult to discuss. I've mentioned that I'm a healer, yes?" Amanda nodded. "Well, I lost a patient last week, a small child."

"O, Hari. I'm so sorry."

"No, no, don't be. I … I did everything thing that I could really and I can't keep beating myself up over it." Harriet looked off to the side again.

Amanda turned compassionate eyes on her. "If you did your best then you did your best. No one could ever ask for more." How she wished she could give Hari a hug!

Harriet nodded, biting her lip. "I know, and I'm working through it. And I know insisting on a counselor is just his way of showing that he's worried about me but it's starting to get annoying."

Amanda smiled sadly. "That's what friends and family do Hari; they worry about each other and insist on being there for us when we need it. Vulcans just display their worry differently than others."

"I know, I do, I'm just tired of it." Then Harriet gave her a slight smile. "I think we've reached an acceptable compromise though." Amanda's face perked up a little in silent inquiry. "He agreed to spending more time with me until things start feeling normal again as long as I spend some of that time meditating with him. It's been surprisingly helpful."

Amanda nodded her head knowingly. "Most Vulcans use meditation as a way of allowing thought to control one's emotions, enabling self-control, rational thought in times of stress, and peace with one's self. However, the practice also increases acceptance and appreciation of both the realities and beauty of life. Even if you do not pursue it for the same reasons as my son, it is a good practice."

Harriet hummed her response. "Yes, it is. I used to practice more often when I was younger but somewhere along the way I stopped."

"Then take this opportunity to truly accept that you did the best that you could do, that you will continue to do the best that you can do, and that we worry about you because we care about you."

And Amanda sincerely hoped that she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: DEARMAN, PLEASE GIVE FAST (psychology); "Can you imagine an Uhura, Gaila, Harriet, make over with Bones stuck in the middle?" (partial fill for Quaff)
> 
> The FAST part of the prompt just didn't seem to fit in with the flow of the overall chapter, so it was left out.


	22. Facing the Future, Confronting the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea when McCoy's birthday is so I made it up

Harriet was on her back, looking up at the sky and quietly contemplating her life, when a vague memory of an old, long lived male, confiding in her surfaced in her mind:

" _I am tired. So tired. I will be truly greatly relieved when I might rely on a failing memory. The past will be as a blank. Later, later, latest, too late."_

She remembered the words well enough but did not remember the name or the place or the time or even the name she had carried in that reality. Was she beginning to lose sight of the past? The details?

Yes, it was inevitable that they would eventually pass; she didn't have Spock's impeccable memory. But even if she did, how long would it be until the past truly became nothing more than a blur of impressions and long forgotten sensations? How tired was too tired? How long before it was too late to regain those edges of her humanity that had been worn down with age and experience?

A cloud passed overhead as Harriet idly considered what followed that series of questions: Was it correct to say she was human? At what point had that become a question worth considering? At what point had she stopped doubting the nature of her own existence in order to stifle the pain, the longing?

She blinked.

Did that pain still exist? Did she still long for something that she had near forgotten, for the things that only remained as hazy ideas and fuzzy images and feelings of loss? What did she long for? _Did_ she long for anything?

Well, yes, she did but how did one define a normal life when what passed for normal was generally considered just this side of outright absurd? Should she start setting goals and aspirations again if the possibility of success could so easily be ripped from her? Did she dare hope that this time, just this once, she could live out a full life? What was a full life? Why was she even considering this?

The fact that she could consider any of these questions so dispassionately was its own indication of how she felt about it all. She should perhaps approach the whole thing from a different angle but couldn't quite remember how to think of it in terms of wants and needs and passionate arguments for or against.

She blinked again.

It was, in fact, one of those things that made Spock's companionship so … refreshing? reassuring? familiar perhaps? Because his difficulty in distinguishing his emotional responses and reconciling them with the Vulcan mindset of logic reminded her of her own difficulties? There were parallels when you compared it to how difficult it had become to identify her own deeper emotions when she had long since learned logic dictated she not delve too deeply into them, that she not become too attached to them.

Yet somehow things had changed. They were subtle changes: the familiarity she felt in this existence, her willingness to even consider making a long term investment in people, and the very feel of Death's magic thrumming through her veins like an old but somehow increasingly distant friend. But they were changes, changes she couldn't decide on how to approach; something drove her to stir the depths of her memory for the possibilities those changes presented and she was becoming increasingly indecisive.

Was she tired, so tired, that the past would soon become a blank? Was she so tired, too tired, that considering these questions was simply the latest symptom of her old age? Or were they simply an indication that if she did not find answers for them soon, she would be too tired, too late?

She blinked faster this time.

Was she too late to save her own humanity?

(she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't)

* * *

It wasn't too long after the end of the fall semester that Harriet finally got around to properly considering what it would mean to become a Starfleet civilian.

"And, what, per se, would this position entail?"

"The medical and counseling department is responsible for the mental and physical health of the crew, from running annual physicals to combatting strange plagues that afflict the crew to helping a crew member dealing with the loss of a loved one. As a civilian doctor, you will help the medical officers onboard in examining the crew, administering medical care under the instruction of the Chief and Assistant Chief Medical Officers, and any other medical area that may need assistance. In addition, per our agreement, you will be serving as a diplomatic contact for any other members of your community."

Harriet gave the Admiral a bland look. If 'her people' were around, she'd certainly seen no evidence of it. "And the guarantee that I will be able to pick my assignment?"

He leaned back in his chair. "It was my impression that you wanted to be stationed alongside Commander Spock."

"If I choose to do so, I will. If I choose otherwise, then I will find another posting that fits my needs."

The Admiral considered her briefly. She honestly still had no intention of remembering the man's name but for Pike's sake she'd play nice enough.

"Your request will be considered. However, for now, you are being considered for the Enterprise crew, which will see its maiden voyage this summer under Captain Pike with Commander Spock as his First." She knew this already. "Do you have any additional questions?"

"Is there anything else that I should question?" Okay, so maybe her tone was a slight bit less than polite…

His lips formed a tight line. "I am certain we can work out any other details when you complete your paperwork, hopefully this month. Until then, your duties won't be officially established."

Harriet's face clearly stated she was unimpressed. "I'll be sure to take everything into consideration then. If that's all?"

"Yes, for now it is." He stood and Harriet and Pike copied the motion. "Ms. Luna, Captain Pike, good day."

Harriet nodded her head in acknowledgement, then led the way out of the office. Once the door was firmly shut behind them, Harriet fell in step with Pike. He glanced quickly at her but otherwise remained silent until they were down the hall.

"Is there anything in particular that you wanted to discuss Ms. Luna?"

"I want to know exactly what your expectations are Captain."

He briefly considered her statement without breaking his stride. "The Enterprise's mission is primarily exploratory in nature. In addition to your efforts in medical, I expect that you would aide in our efforts as well."

"And what efforts do you expect me to make Captain? I will state it very clearly now that I will not be pushed to extend myself, my knowledge, or my connections for an endeavor that I do not approve of."

"Does that mean you will not care for your patients as required because they are involved in that effort?"

"Normally, no. That does not mean however that I will treat mass murders, those who commit atrocities, or those that find it is their time to pass."

Pike's brow furrowed but his tone remained neutral. "That last is a rather interesting exception. I was under the impression you made a living helping others extend their lives."

"I do but there is a difference between extending a helping hand or offering hope and out right cheating death."

"You're implying that you could."

"I'm stating that I won't." Harriet abruptly turned off down a corridor, causing the Captain to pause and look at his departing companion.

"Good day, Capitan."

* * *

Spock and Hari, were, as she would say, 'enjoying' each other's company at her house. He was personally rather fascinated with her dwelling space. The near complete lack of technology she employed outside of her kitchen continued to pique his interest. He had brought the matter up several times but she had simply shrugged it off, stating something to the effect that she and technology 'had a healthy respect for each other. Why upset the balance?'

Given that she engaged in other technological advances both at the Academy and in her medical practice, he didn't follow her reasoning. He also didn't understand how she remained capable of both understanding and employing advanced medical technology when she made no visible effort to attend classes or seminars that covered the topic. This had not allayed his suspicions about the exact nature or extent of her abilities.

He had intended to pursue that point further with her but then he had discovered the contents of her rather extensive library. It bothered him that he didn't know how she had obtained so many physical books on modern topics. Naturally, he had researched the availability of such services but had found very few retailers that didn't specifically specialize in obtaining rare books or classic literature. He had methodically inquired about this point as well. In response, she had snorted and waved it off with an invitation to peruse the shelves as he saw fit.

What he found upon doing so was both enlightening and commendable. The topics varied greatly, presenting opportunities to study modern and early twenty-first century history, a variety of compendiums on the evolution of medical science across races, books on advanced mathematics and scientific theory, and annotated essays on the cultural advancement of Vulcans, Andorians, and Tellarites. It was therefore entirely feasible her library also included technological works that he had yet to discover.

Even if it didn't, the library made the days when they 'stayed in' and didn't have much to discuss both well spent and, if he was honest, rather … enjoyable.

Today had been another productive but quiet day spent reading and sipping beverages but eventually, the time he had allotted for their meeting came to an end. He had just finished exchanging parting words with Hari and was on his way to her front door when she appeared to suddenly remember something.

"O, Spocky, I forgot. I can't meet with you this Wednesday; I have a study date with McCoy."

A study date? Spock was familiar with the idea of studying with others to reinforce advanced understanding of a given topic. He also understood that the word 'date' had several meanings. However, he was not sure how Hari was employing the term. It was possible she was using the word to indicate a specific day for an activity. But it was equally possible that she was using it in the way employed by Terrans to indicate a social interaction that, strangely, both precluded and indicated a state of courtship between two entities.

He supposed the meaning of the phrase thus depended on how the word 'study' was being used. In this sense, was it being used as a descriptor for the nature of the 'date' that would occur? As he had not heard the two words used to indicate a single activity before, he wasn't sure.

He was also uncertain why he was vaguely bothered by the idea.

And when had calling Harriet 'Hari,' if only in his mind, become more natural?

* * *

"I believe it is appropriate at this point to enquire after the origins of your name."

Harriet raised an eyebrow. "Please explain your inquiry further."

"The question implied was quite clear."

Harriet snorted. "I'm sure it's equally clear that you're already aware of its etymology."

"Yes but I am not inquiring after the etymology and you are aware of that."

Harriet stopped their amble through Presidio Park and considered him silently for a time. Then, without a word, she began walking again. Spock just as quietly kept pace, arms still clasped loosely behind his back.

"My name is my name Spock, just as your name is Spock."

Spock's face took on a mild look of concentration as they continued their sedate walk through the park. Then his face evened out as he came to a realization.

"My name has long been Spock."

Harriet's only reply was to hum as she stopped to consider a particularly colorful flowerbed.

As she began to move on, he added: "however, it is true that it does not include my lineal name."

"Are you then deceiving others by not sharing that knowledge?"

"It is generally considered unpronounceable by humans."

Harriet looked up, noting the aerial transport vehicles (ATVs! Ha!) flying by on the outskirts of the park. "Does that make me inhuman for likely being able to pronounce it?"

"That is not the question that I asked."

Harriet gave Spock a small smile. "The ideas are related Spock. I have many names that I share or do not share because I am many different things to many different people. Who are you, one who does not even attempt to share your full name with others, to question me on this matter?"

"You are employing a form of false equivalency. There is a difference between not sharing a portion of a name that generally cannot be pronounced and sharing a name that is in and of itself false."

"Who says that it's false? My name has also long been Harriet and I am as much Harriet Luna as any other name I might give you."

"But it is not the name you were born with."

Harriet's shoulders tensed briefly, then she sighed, letting the tension flow out of her body. "No, it's not." She subconsciously ran her hand over the bushes they were passing, lost in old memories. "No, it's not," she whispered.

Spock, noting the change in both tone and volume, turned to consider her face. Taking in her distant expression, he refocused on their path and waited till they had progressed to the three quarters mark on the path before he continued.

"Is there a particular reason you do not use your birth name?"

Harriet huffed and gave him a wry smile at his persistence. "I have many names and titles Spock, each with their own origins and meanings, most with a history just as long as the others."

They were nearing the end of the trail when she spoke again. "I suppose another of your questions is along the lines of why I settled on Harriet Luna?"

"Yes."

It took a moment for her to respond but the point was that she did eventually respond. "To honor the memory of a friend," she admitted quietly.

As they made for the exit of the park, Spock chose to ask only one more question. "If you do not mind, I would like to know how long you have been honoring that friend."

Harriet's face formed a small smile. "It's generally not considered polite to ask a woman her age Spock." Then her smile turned sad and she once more lost herself in her memories.

It wasn't until Spock's hover car arrived at her home, and she was getting out of the car, that she answered his question.

"Altogether? About 141 years. And it's Potter."

Then, she shut the door and entered her home, leaving Spock to sit quietly in mild shock.

* * *

"Happy Birthday!" Harriet was practically bouncing on her toes in her excitement as she passed McCoy a festively wrapped box. "Open it!"

"How the hell did you even know it was my birthday?" he grumbled. "And why's the wrapping paper so bright?"

[He has a point. I mean, it _does_ have pink kittens on it…]

Harriet's eyes began to twinkle in mischief as her smile broadened. "I have my ways and the paper's pretty. Besides, a man that can hold pretty, 'girly' things is a man who has self confidence." She rubbed her hands together, causing her fruit shaped earrings [actual fruit, mind you] to stop their circular movement and to start swinging back and forth instead. "Now open it! I want to see how you like it!"

McCoy eyed the small wrapped package suspiciously. "Should I be concerned?"

"Of course!" [If I had a face, I'd plant it.]

"That doesn't make me want to open it any faster. In fact, I'm starting to think I shouldn't."

Harriet rolled her eyes. "I promise nothing will jump out at you and that it's perfectly safe." [Still concerned? Yes, definitely.]

Eyeing her wearily, he began carefully unwrapping the gift. He then eyed the innocent looking baby blue box within and graced her with a _look_. "So help me –"

She sighed dramatically, letting her hands fall equally dramatically to her sides. "O come on, I already promised."

Reluctantly, he took the lid off the box, simultaneously grumping: "just tell me what the hell it is already."

As he took a look into the open box, she let out an excited: "Bones!"

He looked up with slight annoyance. "What woman? I'm already talking to you! And I asked a question." Wait, those looked suspiciously like…

Harriet laughed, enjoying the way his face was slowing transforming into a look of mortified disbelief. "No, really, they're called Bones!" Harriet couldn't stop her wide smile. "You play them." She added in another toe bounce for good measure before snatching up the box. "Look, watch."

She removed two of the four _rib bones_ from the _black silk_ padding in the innocent little box. Then, she placed a bone each between her pointer, middle finger, and ring finger, and squeezed the smoothly shaved pieces closest to her thumb into her palm. Moving her wrist back and forth, the tighter 'bone' struck the other, looser 'bone' in a steady rhythm.

Bones, clearly torn between mild disgust and disbelief, finally vocalized a slightly strangled: "Good god woman! Are those actual bones?!"

"Yea, a pair of rib bones."

McCoy simply didn't know what to say.

Harriet laughed. "Your face! Ha!" Her laughing settled into a fit of giggles. "Ha! no!" She waved a hand dismissively in front of her face. "They're wooden replicas, although about four hundred years or so ago they did use actual animal rib bones or parts of the femur bone to make them."

McCoy simply didn't know what to say.

[If Spock got you feeling all depressed, you could have just said so. He would've listened.]

* * *

"Out of curiosity, where does the name Smaug come from?"

"You've been awfully curious about names of late Spock."

"I am finding them increasingly pertinent."

"And I am finding your questions increasingly uncomfortable."

"That is not my intention. I simply wish to … get to know you better."

She gave Spock a small smile. "Somehow, I do not think you intended to create a double entendre."

His brow furrowed ('always so well groomed… does he pluck?'). "I do not believe my words can be taken any other way than as they were intended."

Her smile became more genuine as she shook her head slightly. "Keep telling yourself that Spocky." 'Merlin, I love watching him puzzle through the concept of emotions and vaguely romantic overtones.' She sipped her double ristretto, noting and appreciating its bolder, fuller body. She was really glad she'd convinced Mrs. Thurston to invest in a set of demitasse; it completed the overall experience. 'O look, they're almost furrowed now!'

"You are attempting to change the topic."

"Yes and it is not necessarily polite to point that out."

"I have been told that at this point candor is more appropriate."

"At what point?"

Spock stopped to consider his answer. "I believe we know each other well enough to be direct."

"Yet I at least do not always appreciate directness."

"Can friends not easily discuss things between them?"

Harriet raised an eyebrow of her own. "Then you are finally acknowledging that we are close?" Was _she_ finally acknowledging their interactions indicated a level of closeness that perhaps extended beyond friendship?

[why are the two of you so dense!?]

"Our relationship has not been strictly professional for some time."

"It has certainly developed well beyond that point, yes." She took another sip of her drink, lids closing ever so slightly as she once more savored the taste.

"Likewise, I understand that our … experiment … is no longer strictly scientific in nature and has also not been for some time."

Returning her demitasse to its saucer, she gave Spock another small, amused smile. "And who helped you come to these conclusions?" Sitting back in her seat, she gave Spock enough time to look vaguely uncomfortable before she continued, eyes laughing. "Yes, I think at this point we have at the very least quite firmly established a close relationship." (Was it something more?)

"Is it not appropriate then for us to seek a deeper knowledge of each other?"

"How deep are we talking Spock? We are already quite close. In fact, I believe I know you better than the majority of your acquaintances bar your parents." His lips turned down slightly at the corners. 'The Spocky thinking face is just so cute!' ('wait, what?!')

"We have spent… a lot time with each other."

"Indeed, we have." Ignoring that part of her that was attempting to hyperventilate was probably for the best.

[so help me …]

She took a fortifying sip of her ristretto.

The frown on Spock's face became more pronounced. 'At least he's getting just as uncomfortable as I am.'

"Are you attempting to define our relationship as something more than friendship?"

She froze, demitasse half way to her lips. That part of her that she denied was panicking made itself more pronounced. [I wonder why?] Instead of acknowledging it however, she hurriedly took a somewhat longer sip than she had intended and coughed, eyes turning toward the window.

"Smaug is the name of a fire drake whose aftermath I once had the pleasure of becoming intimate with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning comes from an episode of the Original Series that I now can't find, otherwise I'd give it due credit.
> 
> I'm trying to portray a Spock that is gradually changing due to his interactions with Harriet while trying to portray a Spock that's rubbing off on Harriet. How's it going?
> 
> The Bones are a real instrument and have been for over a hundred years. Slightly strange to the modern individual but just as valid an instrument in jazz and folk bands as the washboard.
> 
> Yes, they're essentially dating already but Spock's too new to the idea to realize it without outside help and Harriet's too afraid of forming attachments to properly deal with it.
> 
> Prompt: Playing the Bones (partial fill for Whisper May); Hari joins a study group and says she has a "study date" to Spock, who, unfamiliar with the term, finds himself strangely bothered (fill for PerfectionJune)


	23. The Thunder before the Storm

Harriet had decided that the 'Spock issue' could be dealt with later. For now, there was absolutely no reason for her and Spock not to continue as they were. Interacting with Spock, and watching him respond to the various situations that she put him in, made her happy; that was all that mattered.

Still, she thought it only fair to offer her other friend the opportunity to offer bad advice. Friends, after all, had rights.

"So I think Spock finally clued in to the rumors that are running around and I'd really like to know who clued him in."

"Which one?"

"The one about us dating."

Bones grumped. "Are you really that surprised? You've been at it for several months now."

Harriet hummed noncommittally.

She and Bones had just finished another study session and Harriet was nursing her ever so reliable coffee cup ('if you were sentient, we might've been best friends by now.') The material they were studying wasn't particularly difficult but it was dense. Harriet herself wasn't participating in the rounds that McCoy was studying the information for but she'd taken it as another opportunity for her to learn more about the Starfleet approach to medicine. Thus, they'd both found helping the other learn the material beneficial.

It had led to more late nights studying outside her own home but the more upsetting point turned out to be her reduced Spock time. She was on the fence about that possibly being a good thing but was leaning toward it being unsatisfactory.

"Look, did you really think he wouldn't eventually catch on?"

"Hmm, that's not necessarily the problem."

"Then what is?"

"I think I may just be upset if someone upsets the status quo."

McCoy gave her pinched face number 2. "You can't be serious."

"I'm not sure. I'm rather on the fence about it. The whole rumor thing started a while ago, back when we were still getting to know each other. Then I started the whole thing last semester mostly to see what would happen but also because I suspected one of his students was getting attached, which, by the way, I'm now quite sure of." She took another sip of her coffee. "But now, well, I'm quite attached myself and I don't particularly feel like sharing."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation."

Harriet smiled over her cup, black curls barely restrained by pins framing her face. "I figure it's your right as best mate to put in your two credits."

"I'm not grateful for the opportunity."

She let out a small laugh. "Don't look so constipated! I'm merely getting it off my chest that as much of a stick in the mud as Spock can be, I truly value the time we spend together, and I'm not particularly in the mood to have it infringed upon."

"Don't you have female friends you can have this discussion with?"

She laughed again and dropped the subject. She would weigh the pros and cons of bringing up the subject with Mrs. Thurston later.

* * *

"Well Captain Pike, it seems you officially have a medical civilian attached to your ship. Congratulations." The as yet unnamed Admiral was sitting behind an impressive desk, interacting with the glass interface that comprised its top.

Pike's lips twitched in amusement. "I take it Ms. Luna finally agreed to Starfleet's conditions?" He had to admit the way the young woman interacted with Spock and her cryptic comments both amused and intrigued him.

"After some adjustments." Finished with whatever he had been doing, he pulled a padd out of one of the desk's drawers and passed it to him. "Her particulars are strictly confidential; familiarize yourself with them." He sat back in his chair. "You are expected to observe and comment on her performance and any strange behavior that you may witness, both on- and off-board your vessel."

Pike's face evened out as he reached for the padd. "Is there anything in particular I should be on the look out for sir?" Why was she a point of interest to Fleet Command?

"Read the file; everything we have is in her profile. If possible, try to get more information out of her or her acquaintances. Unfortunately, it was part of our original agreement with Ms. Luna that we would neither order Spock to use his position as a close acquaintance to gather information on her nor use him as leverage against her. Any information he shares must be done voluntarily, which is unlikely.

"I also want medical to keep a close eye on her. At this point, we're pretty sure she's not entirely human, for all that she's humanoid in appearance. Part of the reason we're attaching her to medical is to observe first hand how her healing abilities work and evaluate how Starfleet could benefit from them. So if there's more like her out there, we want to know about it."

"Understood Sir." Perhaps her previous comments to him had been more literal than he had first assumed. He would have to take care to commit the file to memory.

"And figure out what her real name is. At this point I'm damn sure it isn't Harriet Luna."

* * *

According to the advice that Spock had sought, it would be best if he 'didn't allow things to get awkward' between him and Hari in light of his revelations. Admittedly, his experience with Terran females other than his mother was rather limited. Thus, while he was not entirely sure of the meaning behind his Captain's advice, he would endeavor to follow it.

So, he decided sticking to their regular schedule was best. However, Hari was now intermittently unavailable and he was not sure how to proceed. Should he be concerned? Was she now uncomfortable with his presence?

Ostensibly, she was spending more time at the Academy studying. Yet, statistically speaking, the percentage of time she spent pursuing such studies on campus was low; she had her own library that was well stocked and she did not find the completion of her rounds in a manner that met her exacting standards difficult. He suspected, but had yet to confirm, that her abilities and experience also made the completion of those rounds comparatively easy and less stressful. Certainly, if she was to be believed, having over 100 years of exposure to the profession gave her a sizable edge over the other attending staff.

It also made the exact nature of the abilities she employed both on her rounds and in her side business more worthy of consideration. Was it strictly psionic in nature? From what he had observed, it was not entirely rooted in the traditional telekinetic, telepathic, or bioelectric categories. There was also no evidence of the use of delta waves or hallucinations.

That was not to say she was incapable of such abilities.

Even so, there was more evidence suggestive of extrasensory perception, which was an imprecise phrase as the term was largely used by humans to describe otherwise unexplainable activities performed by humans. Regardless, as she had refused to submit to any tests other than the standard entrance exams, he was not aware of, and could think of no favorable situation with which to enquire of, her apperception quotient. Statistically, the likelihood the exact rating would be important was low but it would be helpful in defining her potential limits.

Their first encounter, and many of their subsequent encounters, also indicated she was able to create a psychoactive effect without the use of a device, gestures, or any visible exertion. Additionally, these incidents provided evidence that the effect could be either illusionary or permanent in nature, likely depending on the situation in which she found herself. Based on what he had learned so far of her personality, it was more probable that she used the more permanent option sparingly while using the more illusionary aspect at least semi regularly.

Finally, there was her ability to succeed where many others of her profession generally failed. Reason dictated that the very nature of her side business depended on an ability to evaluate a patient at a cellular or molecular level. In terms of her revelation, her ability to treat the advanced level of viral, bacterial, and cellular mutations her patients faced is highly developed. However, given her heavy focus on xenobiology and preference for non-Terran oriented rounds, it was likely not developed off world.

This produced something of a conundrum. If she had truly spent the last 141, if not more, years on Earth, how had she or her equally long-lived brethren not been noticed before? Have they been using psionic and extrasensory abilities to go unnoticed?

How had she created forged documents, and logged them into the national database, without any discernable trace or effort to hide that they had not previously been in the system?

All of this led him to be unequivocally certain she was capable of more than she demonstrated. Yet, in light of her distrust of Starfleet, he deemed her self-imposed limits both explicable and prudent, no matter how perplexing a puzzle it presented.

He had supposed, and so far had not been proven incorrect, that presenting his observations on this matter was not deemed appropriate. Therefore, he kept them and his fascination to himself.

… This tangent did not help him with his current predicament. Should he approach Hari directly on the matter of her increased absences or would that make things "awkward?" Was his not enquiring more "awkward" than his silence on the matter?

He was uncertain.

… Why did Hari inspire such uncertainties in him so often? It was most puzzling.

* * *

It was one minute past 2pm on Wednesday when McCoy entered the shop for his weekly pick me up. Harriet smiled to herself. Even after all this time, he was still a loyal regular.

And O! His facial expressions! He always looked so grumpy when he walked in! Of course, she now knew that this was his default expression but that didn't change the fact it had also, somehow, become endearing. 'Perhaps it's because he's secretly a teddy bear?'

[…Define "teddy bear"…]

Whipping out a freshly washed mug, she went about preparing a cup of her 'herbal' migraine reliever. Thankfully, it was only as addictive as the coffee she mixed it with so she didn't have to worry about needing to slowly ween him off before the end of the semester. She would have to discuss with him what he would do once he was properly assigned to a vessel but there was some time yet to broach the subject.

"Is it possible for me to get a double dose?"

Harriet raised an eyebrow. "No. Why?" Bones grit his teeth and sat down heavily at the bar. "Let me guess: Jim?" She was rewarded with sound of frustrated … gruffiness.

The café was generally not busy this time of day so she set his cup in front of him and dragged over a stool. After he'd taken a few sips and muttered a few uncomplimentary words, she asked: "What's he up to now?"

"Remember that test I told you about? The one for command track cadets? I don't know how the hell he did it, and I honestly don't want to know how he did it, but they approved him for a third shot."

Harriet actually was rather familiar with that test. Spock would never divulge details regarding cadet performances but the Kobayashi Maru simulation was something he rather proud of.

"Is he ready for it?"

"He wasn't ready for it the first two times. I highly doubt he's ready for it this time."

"Maybe he's matured a bit, gained some additional insight as to what it means to lead." The whole point of the exam after all was to see what kind of leader you were or could potentially become.

Bones gave her a look over the top of his mug. Right, this was the infamous Jim. It was highly unlikely he'd suddenly matured into Captain material. He put his cup down.

"The issue isn't that he lacks potential. The issue is that he refuses to accept that in certain situations, there is no 'good' outcome; he's constantly looking for a win-win scenario."

Harriet snorted. Those scenarios didn't exist in reality, much less in armed conflict. Someone, even if it was a rival business partner or some general opposing party, always lost something. It was a matter of how much each side was willing to sacrifice in order to obtain a goal… and morality often deemed running away an ill-advised decision.

"Is there no way to "win" the scenario?"

"No. That's the point."

Harriet knew this but she raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry ('I've been learning from an Eyebrow Master, why shouldn't I employ the skills that I've learned!').

"The scenario's called the Kobayashi Maru. According to the Instructors, it's designed to assess a cadet's discipline, character, and command capabilities. In the simulation, we receive a distress signal from a civilian freighter called the Kobayashi Maru. It's been disabled in the Klingon neutral zone, which we can't enter without violating several treaties. So we have a choice: either ignore the distress call or face being confronted by three Klingon battle cruisers and not leaving the neutral zone with the starship intact."

He took another sip of his drink.

"The problem for Jim is that it's an impossible situation, there's just no legitimate strategy that results in a successful outcome for everyone involved."

"In accepting the inevitable, one finds peace." *

"Somehow I don't think Jim sees it the same way."

"But the point isn't the outcome, it's how you face it."

His face took on a rather grim look for a second before he nodded his agreement. "Unfortunately, his refusal to accept the situation at all results in his inability to put up a good showing."

If Jim couldn't accept that there were sometimes casualties when you did the right thing, he wasn't ready to be in charge of a starship. 'Have I become a pessimist?' No, the whole point of the exercise was to see how the cadet handled the rescue mission, how well they handled the stress, and what kind of decisions they made when there were lives on the line. You didn't want someone who couldn't handle the stress, who couldn't think rationally, who wouldn't carefully consider their options before pursuing a route that could result in lives lost, even if they are the lives of an opponent.

"And where do you come in?"

Bones rolled his neck with a resigned look on his face. "I have the _distinct_ pleasure of manning one of the stations on the simulated bridge."

Harriet quirked a smile at him. "Tell me when you're planning on stopping by and I'll be sure to have something waiting for you."

"Thanks."

A customer came in so Harriet briefly stepped off to take and fill an order for a Tellarite java. She really didn't see the appeal but coffee was coffee and who was she to deny someone their fix? So she wiped down the workspace, then went back to her stool.

"In other news, you're officially looking at a Starfleet civilian doctor."

"When the hell did that happen?"

* * *

Hari was behind the bar when Spock walked into the shop and he took the time to take in her appearance as he walked toward the bar.

She was wearing what appeared to be a "sweater dress" under her tan shop apron, working the espresso machine for a customer's order. Her hair was bound in a partial "messy bun," likely held together by "an unholy number" of gold pins, and a wooden stick with a trail of loose hair falling in waves down her back. The earrings today were perhaps not as unique as her other pairs but still a visually pleasing pair of "gryffindor" red lions that matched the pins in her hair. It was not displeasing to the eye.

As he reached the bar, Harriet finished with the customer she was serving and turned toward him with a smile.

"Spock, you are well met!" Her smile was infectious and Spock could not help the small upturn of his lips in response.

"Good day Harriet. I do not believe I have heard that greeting before."

"Ah, it's rather old. Shakespheare old actually. Are you well?" She wiped down the milk steamer.

"I am. Are you not available?" He knew her schedule well but felt it appropriate to ask anyway.

"Ah, yes but I've only got another five minutes before my shift ends. Why don't you take a seat and I'll bring out the tea service when I'm off."

As that was agreeable, he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement and headed toward their customary table as she moved to prepare the service, and, likely, a cup of coffee.

Five minutes and 23. 2 seconds later, she carried a tray with the tea service and her cup of … cappuccino, if he was not mistaken, over to the table. As he placed the scoop of powdered tea present on the service into the Yixing pot and poured the provided water, she returned the tray to the bar, took off her apron, and came back to the table.

"So, you had some free time today? Is there anything in particular you wished to speak about?"

"In light of the recent changes to your schedule, I believed it prudent to adapt my own schedule to better facilitate our meetings." Was that too "awkward" an opening?

Hari smiled again. "I have been rather busy lately, haven't I? Thank you for accommodating me." He poured the tea into a matching clay cup. "Did you have to do much rearranging?"

"There were minimal difficulties in making the necessary changes. " He took a sip of the tea and raised an eyebrow. "This is a new blend."

She acknowledged his statement with a small nod, clearly pleased that he had noticed. "It is. It's a new herbal blend that I've been working on for a while now. What do you think?"

"It is a soothing mix of sweet and spicy…"

As he continued with their discussion on the merits of the tea and its composition, he decided there was nothing awkward between them and his indulgence in such worries had been for naught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tuvok has spoken
> 
> *: This is a line spoken by Tuvok in VOY: "Once Upon a Time"
> 
> The next chapter should get us into ST2009 cannon. This is established AU so you shouldn't expect all parts of the storyline to develop the same as it did in the movie, if at all.


	24. The Kobayashi Maru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV whiplash ahead

Harriet was packing a ready bag. Well, she was packing a ready bag that she was packing into her satchel which was generally packed, ready, and on her person at all times. Well, she already had an entire wardrobe and a small army's worth of food stuffs and camping supplies packed in her satchel but today she was packing her newly issued Starfleet uniforms (that she'll never wear) and copies of all her relevant potions' notes into an easily believable semblance of a ready bag…

Should she pack coffee?

People tended to believe she actually had a caffeine addiction. If nothing else, she could use that perception to pack as much as she wanted in her satchel – then continue to pull her supply seemly out of nowhere. It would be a terribly good prank to add to her ongoing efforts at the Academy…

But really, she wasn't addicted to coffee per se. It was more a matter of coffee not being a consistent commodity, whereas various forms of tea were _always_ available. Thus, she was perfectly justified in nearly shunning the stuff!

(*nod nod*)

That same point also happens to be why she had such a great understanding of the purpose of herbal teas: healing. Armed, sometimes literally, with that simple understanding, she could do more than the average being thought possible. Oddly enough, she had Maglor to thank for that…

She paused in her perusal of standard issue laid out before her. Maglor. It'd been a while since she'd last thought of Maglor.

Huh.

She stared unseeing out of the window, holding her deceptively small container of coffee, deep within her own memory. How long had it actually been since she last saw Maglor? Some hundreds, if not thousands of years by now, sure. But how long, actually? Putting down the container, she took a tentative seat on a tasteful Vulcan sandrock colored fainting couch Amanda had picked out for her (she still wasn't sure why. Should she pack that as well? Probably should – just in case). She'd been hurled here and there for what felt like ages now, so she didn't generally keep track of such things as time anymore; not in the conventional sense anyway.

Yet there was always something memorable to remind her of the highlights: medical practices, unique physiology, startling monuments; rarely people. Meeting Maglor marked the beginning of her understanding of exactly what she was facing in terms of sorrow, regret, and the meaning of immortality. It wasn't _the_ beginning of the whole jumping fiasco that had turned into her life, but it was certainly the point where she began to truly question if she'd ever make it back "home."

… was that even home? Was it ever home? Where was "home"?

After that first trip, and then Maglor, home had come, and remained, in the shape of the twins. She missed them. She certainly wouldn't go so far as to say she missed _Maglor_ , but she did miss the twins – terribly so.

Would she miss Bones that way? Mrs. Thurston? Amanda? Spock? Would she miss people who could probably never understand why she no longer counted individual birthdays? Really, at a certain point it's far more useful to count name days.

'Would they be years?' Technically, she was counting the birthdays of each of her names, so yes? (There are so many of them to track!)

She hadn't lied to Spock when she told him Harriet Luna was 141 years old. That particular name, that particular way of honoring one of her few stalwart friends, had only been in existence for 141 years. As long as she was Harriet Luna, she couldn't be Harriet Evans or Evvana Harrison, could she?

… should she tell him she'd been Hari for far longer then? Did it really matter?

She shook her head and went back to her TA-54. Regardless of how sheepish she felt about that particular bit of their conversation, there was currently no reason to get caught up in the small things.

[They're big things.]

'Being ready for whatever that Death Sense of mine is warning me of is far more important.'

[And listening to all the hints Death seems to be trying to give you isn't?]

* * *

McCoy entered the simulation chamber with a mild sense of dread. He could just tell Jim was up to something; he wasn't sure what but it was putting Jim in a good mood. Right now, Jim in a good mood was suspicious.

As he took his position to the right of the command chair, he settled in for what promised to be a very trying experience.

Uhura was once again at the communications station and had the dubious honor of starting off the simulation.

"We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S. Kobayashi Maru. The ship has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them."

The way Jim whipped around in the command chair, chastising Uhura for not calling him by his temporary rank, only confirmed his suspicions.

* * *

The test of the Kobayashi Maru wasn't designed to be 'beat,' as many cadets assumed. It had been designed, in much the same way as he and Harriet had discussed, to test a Cadet's rapid decision making skills while operating under difficult circumstances. Preparing for just this type of potentiality was a significant portion of the command track's training. Thus, standing there, ostensibly alone on the bridge, subjected jointly to the weight of the crew's dependency on your lack of temerity, and the attentions of an unknown number of unidentified, observing faculty, your ability to adapt to the circumstances, maintain your composure, and make informed, difficult choices determined your success or failure.

These were the conditions of the test. These were the basis for determining what type of future Commanders, Captains, and Admirals, they were producing; wanted to produce.

"Two Klingon vessels have entered the Neutral Zone and are locking weapons on us."

* * *

Jim had lost his mind! Klingon vessels had entered the Neutral Zone, were firing on them, and all he could say was "that's okay" !? Even he, who was mildly desensitized to Jim's antics, could do nothing but gawk. Generally at this point in the simulation, cadet responses varied from panicked to confused to nonexistent. And here was Jim saying it was _okay_?

"It's _okay_?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

* * *

Above and to one side of the simulation bridge, puzzled test administrators and technicians exchanged a number of profoundly bemused looks.

"Did he just say 'Don't worry about it'?" one administrator asked his colleague.

Turning back to the simulation chamber, his cohort's eyes narrowed as they focused tightly on the cadet presently occupying the command chair.

"What's he doing…?"

* * *

Regardless of Jim's lackadaisical state, he had a job to do. "Three more Klingon warbirds decloaking and targeting our ship," he reported. He glanced toward the command chair. "I don't suppose that's a problem either?"

"Nah."

The cadet manning tactical reported in. "They're firing, Captain. _All_ of them."

Jim nodded in understanding. "Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship."

"And how do you expect _us_ to rescue _them_ ," Uhura pointed out sharply, "when _we're_ surrounded and under attack by the Klingons?"

" _Alert Medical_."

And now the part McCoy was sure would only make the situation worse. "We're being hit. Shields at sixty percent."

"I understand."

'How have I let myself be roped into this farce?' he wondered. "Should we at least, oh, I don't know, fire back?"

"Mmm, no."

"Of course not," he muttered under his breath. "What an absurd notion. Forgive me for bringing it up." This was turning into a complete waste of his time.

* * *

She was only about an hour into her shift at the shop when Bones' very impressive scowl proceeded his entrance into the shop – by about a mile.

'The test must not have gone well for him to be that agitated … I really don't think I'm going to like this discussion…

Oncoming storm! EVASSIVE MANUEVOURS!'

[O dear … emotion suppression imminent]

(emotions management techniques!)

[In your case: same thing]

(*indignant squawk*)

"An~nd the story of tonight is?"

[O dear… trolling through out of date pop culture references. Poor Bones.]

Bones just continued scowling at the menu mounted on the wall behind her as if it would up and cower in fear before him.

"I wasn't in the room where it happened Bones. You're going to have to let me in on the details."

"Jim damn well cheated is what happened. I need a drink."

She blinked at him behind her TrelawneysTM and moved to the end of the counter, loose sleeves ever so billowy. Naturally she slid a mug at him, then wiped her hands on her sensible shop apron. "What's your poison?"

Now Harriet wasn't scared of death, but, at that moment, she was just a tad bit afraid of Mrs. Thurston. Not that she and her obnoxious snorkack repelling bracelets didn't deserve it. She was very _clearly_ avoiding all the tedious paperwork she should be filling out for the dear woman given her upcoming quality time with Starfleet.

Still, it was paperwork. And here was _Bones_. BONES! He clearly needed her attention more than the dratted paperwork.

(*nod nod*)

Based on said madam's unamused look, she clearly disagreed. Still it was _Bones_. And Harriet was certain the woman liked the man in spite of his plethora of disgruntled angles.

"How, exactly, is your dear dunderheaded friend expecting to emerge from _that_ quagmire," she asked skeptically. "Does he honestly think he's confused or confounded anyone?" Even she could tell the simulation had been hacked and she hadn't even been there!

[How do you even know these?]

McCoy finally looked at her as she moved a stool in front of him so she could sit. Really, he should write a book: "Epic Facial Expressions" or "How to Have a Conversation With Your Face." Hmmm, maybe not that last one…

Since he still hadn't answered, she decided for him, opening and pouring the contents of an unmarked pumpernickel (*snicker*) packet into his mug. Then, slowly, artfully, she used both hands to simultaneously pour a mix of mashed rye berries and sugar with cream. It didn't sound, smell, or taste the best, but it would relieve some of the angry energy he was exuding – even more so than his usual cup did. It was effectively as close to a double shot of the stuff as she could, and ever would, try to get.

"He damn well decided receiving a distress signal from a maimed, stranded vessel, that we were ordered to rescue, while we had Klingon _birds of prey_ after us, was " _okay_ " and not something we should worry about."

She passed the drink to him with a scowl on her face.

"Did he take even a moment of the test seriously?"

"No." His face soured a bit at the first whiff of her the concoction she gave him. "I don't even know why I bothered." He gave her a look that clearly asked if she was seriously expecting him to drink her lovely little concoction. (Medicine!)

"Then he failed again?" Surely he would with that attitude…

"NO."

" _How in MOTHER MAGIC'S name not?"_ she asked incredulously.

"Mother Magic?" he whispered, looking up from persuading himself Hari wasn't the type to poison a customer. "He likely did something I don't want to know the details of." He decided to just go for it.

If Harriet weren't starting to get rather upset, she'd have mentally insisted on getting in on that book deal. As it was…

" _Annnnd?"_

"Heaven help me, that's foul." ('Book deal!')

"Bones!" Harriet whisper shouted, leaning in. After all: Mrs. Thurston; enough said.

"The smug kid had the nerve to near gloat when he declared a successful rescue with no injuries to the crew of the stranded vessel." He looked like he wanted to hurl.

Harriet didn't particularly care.

"Keep it in your stomach," she stated dismissively. Then she leaned back and just managed not to snarl. "History is full of hotheaded, self-righteous, overly confident, hard-headed _boys_ who did not live to see their glory, no matter their eagerness, and brought down others with them." She took a deep, calming breath. "Does he even _get_ the concept of a no-win scenario?" Harriet bared her teeth near imperceptibly in a hiss, which may or may not have been a rather inventive curse in parseltongue. "Spock will demand satisfaction. He will not allow this challenge to go unanswered."

"Challenge?" Bones hated the damn simulation, true, but… ('he still looks a bit peaky')

"Keep. It. Down." She shook her head disapprovingly, with no small dose of exasperation and just that hint of outright anger. "Very few can match the practical, tactical brilliance of the unknown that inspires the solemn resignation and despair of a cornered bridge Bones. _That's the whole point_."

[o dear … ]

* * *

Mrs. Thurston could only wonder at where Harriet's vehemence had come. Not even ten minutes with that man and she was already looking fit to tear into someone in that way of hers. Whatever happened? Harriet tended to be a bit … emotionally neutral. Not always of course, but in general she rarely displayed anything less than politeness to most people she spoke with. Occasionally, it was polite _battery_ , but a neutral kind of polite battery nonetheless.

So whatever happened to get the dear, but still very _blatantly_ avoiding her assigned task, girl to get her to talk about despair?

Was she about to have another one of those, thankfully rare, days? If that boy triggered her, so help her, he wouldn't make it back to Starfleet Academy for a _long_ time!

But Harriet was headed off on a Starfleet vessel soon herself, _thus the paperwork she needed to fill out_ , with that Vulcan "friend" of hers… who may or may not have already realized they were beyond friendship.

McCoy was Starfleet personnel as well. If she remembered correctly, he was poised to graduate soon. It was perfectly possible her current bout of emotional depth was somehow connected to the two.

She pursed her lips and determined to keep her ears open.

* * *

After a cup of disturbingly room temperature tea, she met Bone's eyes.

"History has its eyes on everyone Bones. It's unfortunate we tend to lose sight of that particular truth." Harriet sighed and considered her left wrist. "Jim doesn't really sound like the kind of person with a mind at work."

"A mind at work?" He'd finally stopped looking like he was regretting his life choices thus far. She had to look off to the side, eyes unfocused, her mind insistent on ruminating.

"He doesn't think about consequences; the impact on others." She refocused on him. "Do you think he'll ever rise up?"

Bones hesitated, uncertain and unable to answer immediately. "Eventually."

"Are you willing to wait for it though? Will his eventual crew mates? Superiors?"

"I don't think I'm quite ready to think on that properly." He exhaled a long breath. "Not here. Not on this poison."

Harriet wasn't quite sure she appreciated either of those opinions.

' _Fine then_. _He wants to avoid a long overdue discussion? He wants to discount how I just subjected MYself to a cup of_ tea _in commiseration? FINE._ '

"Bones!" Harriet gasped. "Are you suggesting my love is draining and you can't go on?!"

"LOVE?!" Bones spluttered. "Damnit woman! Whatever you're up to, stop it!" ('You nearly gave me a heartache' face #8!)

€¥£ cha ($_$) ching €¥£

[o dear … ]

* * *

Mrs. Thurston smiled as Hari got back to her normal McCoy induced antics. Then glared at the Uniform type sitting at table 3, who had the decency to offer a wry smile before going back to at least pretending to mind his own business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much of a diversion from the movie here but given the prompt and the point we're at, there really isn't room or need to be.
> 
> Prompts: Angst it up; Stick to the Plot! (partial fill for Ryuus2); Hamilton Reference Counter (Go for broke!)


	25. Tension of Various Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Star Trek in any of its many forms and give credit where due to the writer and authors whose dialogue is reprised in this work.

Hari had once more packed him a homemade lunch. He wasn't entirely sure she was aware of the connotations of the action. In fact, he was certain she wasn't. He found it quite difficult to comprehend how she couldn't be aware of the implications. While her study of Vulcan culture and history could not be called extensive, it was definitive and her retention and understanding of that study was commendable.

Thus, the statistical improbability of her lack of awareness.

However, a marginal possibility remained. Was this truly a topic she had not come across in all of her study? Had he missed the possibility that she had not discussed such cultural topics with his mother? Had he ever considered the probability of that possibility?

[Eyebrow: why hello, hello. We need to learn how to wiggle]

No, there would be no reason for his mother to discuss or introduce the underlying assumptions and implications associated with the act of making and presenting homemade food to a Vulcan male outside of the context of one visiting another's home. Not to mention the regularity of her actions. Or her knowledge of his preferences, so far as he admitted to having them.

[Eyebrow: uncomfortable yet?]

Then again, he was not aware of Hari having any strong personal connections with any other Vulcans. He was aware she occasionally visited the embassy. When his mother was on Terra, they would often meet there as it was her primary residence. Otherwise, Hari only attended the special lectures, courses, or demonstrations that the embassy made available to the public biweekly. Regularly offering such programs was a large part of Vulcan's effort to build a better understanding of Vulcan culture and their place in the alliance, so it was logical for them to encourage her continued attendance. The likelihood of such programs covering the topic of Vulcan courtship customs and habits was minimal, however, and as he considered the various reasons they might be offered, they remained minimal.

It was not like him to be unable to calculate the relevant numerical values.

Her explanation at his initial hesitance had been as thorough as she could provide. It was a matter of cultural differences. Considering the exploration of such differences and understandings was the initial basis for the furtherance of their association, he had done his best to adapt.

[Eyebrow: you've done very admirably *twitch twitch*]

Perhaps, in a situation such as this, it would be best to speak with her directly? It was a logical approach given the circumstances and her own tendencies.

But would it create that 'awkwardness' he had been so recently advised against?

"Harriet," he finally asked in Vulcan, "if I may revisit a previous topic with you?"

"Hmm? Which topic?" Truly, her accent had greatly improved. If it were not for the occasional grammatical error, she would be able to pass as a near native speaker of his home dialect.

"The matter of packing a lunch made by your hand in the kitchen of your home."

"O? Do you still find the custom disconcerting?" The word 'disconcerting' did not properly exist in Vulcan. He was impressed she was still able to get the sense of the concept across.

… Did he find the practice disconcerting?

"I have come to the conclusion that you are not acquainted with certain related aspects of Vulcan culture."

"Kindly explain."

The request 'drove home' the fact he felt uncharacteristically out of his depth. Was this what Hari meant about the various emotional aspects of awkward, uncomfortable, and … was this perhaps embarrassment?

[Eyebrow: I'm here for you bro!]

* * *

By this point, Amanda could tell that both her son and Harriet sought love after a certain fashion. She knew that love was a difficult concept for Spock at the very least. While the concept wasn't entirely lost on a Vulcan, the _pon farr_ mating ritual was an all encompassing, sufficient, and neatly contained experience, requiring no more or less than given. However, as a human, even if only half, he would, at some level, desire affection and deeper, more expressive relationships.

Yet he had no instruction in the subtle art of romance, and no true source from which to receive it. Sarek was a wonderful husband, and she knew well that he loved her in his own Vulcan way. But therein lay the problem. Sarek could not truly identify with his son's need for what he would consider illogical guidance in the way of courtship.

Then, he would remind both her and their son of T'Pring. T'Pring, who was very clearly showing signs of disagreeing with her parent's decision to pair her with Spock.

On a certain level, she agreed. It was a poor match. The practice of betrothing children in and of itself went strongly against her own sensibilities but she understood the practical and biological aspects that drove the custom. Without some form of outside influence though, she just knew her son would not admit to even a hint of his feelings or desires, much less any he might have towards a woman.

She needed to speak with Sarek. There was a logical argument that could be made for him to at least discuss the matter of the subtleties of Vulcan courtship and displays of affection. If nothing else, the discussion would help Spock form a better connection with T'Pring, and, just perhaps, help him through this journey on which both him and dear Hari found themselves.

Preferably to the continued detriment of his bonding with T'Pring.

"O dear," she said when the thought properly registered. "I think it's time for tea."

* * *

Harriet made it a point to ensure Spock met with her today. Per their usual Tuesday routine, this particular outing would include food. However, she didn't feel that the conversation she wanted, and he likely needed, to have would be appropriate to have in an acutely public arena. He was, after all, particularly Vulcan when upset, and determined to be even more so when in public.

So instead of meeting him at one of the Academy dining halls or the café, she'd made proper bento boxes for both of them and met him at his office. His office hours were some time off, so she had no worry of being interrupted.

Yet, that part of her magic that metaphorically leaned toward him whenever they were within easy reach of each other registered a distinct feeling of unease. Standing there behind his desk, the subtle tenseness in his shoulders, the vague pinch between his eyebrows, Spock himself reinforced the impression.

"I must defer until a later date as I do not think this is an appropriate discussion to have with a Terran female unaccompanied. However, I do not know how well studied you are on Vulcan physiology."

Whatever did that mean? Huh. Then it was a matter very Vulcan in nature indeed. She would just have to be polite and match her approach to fit with the linguistic limitations that conversing in Vulcan already posed.

"In the area of medicine and the general treatment of ailments of the body, my knowledge is sufficient to qualify for medical licensure." And then some.

He stood there for a moment, stock still and barely breathing. Were his cheeks tinted just that bit greener?

"Are you well Spock?"

"I am in good health. I am attempting to formulate my question in a manner that correlates with what I have learned of acceptable Terran behavior. I must admit that I am having difficulty."

"I respect that difficulty." And she did, certainly better than most others. "Shall we instead address the matter that brings us here rather than the shop or other eatery?"

With his ever so slight nod, she drew a seat closer to his desk and set about laying out the ridiculously colorful bento lunch. Instead of presenting them as two separate meals however, she arranged the tastefully flowered containers such that it was unclear which was intended for who and suggested that food could be drawn from either of the two boxes without exclusivity. Settling back a bit, she placed her hand within her satchel, summoned two small, beautifully hand painted rice bowls, and placed them on the desk.

Spock blinked. Harriet pretended she'd neither blatantly done something that broke the laws of physics as he understood them nor noticed the Very VulcanTM scrutiny that followed and simply began to daintily assemble her meal. After a moment, Spock began to do the same.

"The outcome of the recent Kobayashi Maru simulation was recently relayed to me. The specifics were not provided, but I do not suppose they are necessarily relevant." She paused to take a bite. "There is sufficient reason for me to suspect you are not satisfied with the performance of the cadet or the actions taken to achieve the outcome obtained."

"I have already determined that the simulation was compromised and acted accordingly. The cadet shall be appropriately censured."

* * *

The late afternoon found both Harriet and Spock meditating. Harriet personally couldn't find it in her to sit before Spock's alter, so they had compromised, deciding to sit as they found appropriate facing across from each other at a perpendicular angle to the alter.

Harriet had yet to decide how she felt about the practice. However, both he and Amanda had insisted. She simply couldn't find rest sitting alone with her thoughts. Neither peace nor the aftermath of _Kolinahr_ could be found there. Yet she knew, both physiologically and psychologically, Vulcans felt very strong emotions, often with an intensity that outright required emotional suppression to control.

Why, then, did they insist on emotion suppression to achieve the peace she was unsure she personally sought when those emotions _weren't_ that strong?

Why did even Smaug seem to be quietly meditating during the sessions he "followed" her to!

'It's unnatural I tell you!'

(so is Smaug!)

Still, their compromise remained. She could even admit that the additional time they had spent together, quietly meditating or talking about the science of life, death, trauma, and recovery, likely played a significant role in her re-finding some sense of balance in her life. She would have to admit as much to Amanda in her next communication.

Actually, should she? She was pretty sure Amanda was coming down with a case of the hopefuls… She really didn't need to encourage that…

'How can I not? The fact of the matter is I view Spocky as more than a friend, comrade, or brother.' And she was secure in the knowledge that he was in the same boat.

Sigh. What did that even _mean_?

"You are, as you have previously informed me, thinking too loudly."

Harriet raised a very Spocky eyebrow. 'Sass!'

"Per Surak's doctrine of logic, the purpose of meditation is to calm and keep tempestuous emotions under control. I wonder what Surak would have to say about thinking too loudly?"

Spockit gave her _a look_.

"It would be more beneficial if we directly discussed the thoughts preventing your success."

She gave _him_ her best _look_.

"I can only describe it as being both restless and apprehensive." She grimaced, deflating a bit into the floor. "I need you to accept what I am about to say as something not to be readily shared, and then only with the most minimal detail."

After a Vulcan breath or two: "understood."

She drew herself up, back as straight and strong as could be when sitting in a lotus position. "My instincts are good Spock, and they are screaming. Whatever I am sensing – it does not bode well." Well, he already thought she possessed an extrasensory perception or some such…

"In fact, I am quite certain it will be massive in scale and equally … bad, for lack of more precise grasp of this… sense."

Spock's face settled into one of thoughtful consideration, his body stiffening even as he maintained his meditative seat.

"Harriet, if you have any greater detail, this information must be shared. If it concerns potential loss of life, I am obligated to share this information with my superiors immediately."

Harriet bit her lip as she once again weighed the consequences of speaking further. Spock, knowing her well after their months of "experimentation," recognized the look and held back any additional questions.

"The trouble, Spocky, is that I only know that it is imminent and large scale. I cannot say if it will be catastrophic but there will likely be sufficiently significant loss of life that it will throw – well, suffice it to say that I can _sense_ it after a fashion but I cannot _pinpoint_ it."

"Harriet –"

"No Spock," she said firmly. "I know this sense, I know to listen to it, I know to prepare for fallout and a large impact area, but that's all. It could be here, it could be in space, it could be on Vulcan for all I know. It simply will be." She hardened her features just that bit more. "Further, your _superiors_ have already shown that their interests do not necessarily align with my best interests. I will _not_ take kindly to their additional scrutiny or _hospitality_ , even if it's you, especially if they hear it from you."

Spock the Rock was doing an admirable job of attempting to reassert himself. Yet the conflict he was experiencing was clear. She met his gaze head on, relatively fearless and without malice.

"I suggest an alternative."

"Proceed."

"As you are now a fully recognized member of the crew, I will inform Captain Pike of the warning I have received and the inability to obtain more precise information. When asked where I received the intelligence, I will state the truth: it was brought to my attention during my dedicated meditation period."

She quirked a smile. "You know perfectly well he shall not be satisfied with that response."

"It will be the truth; our integrity will be not be compromised."

She wasn't so sure about that last bit.

* * *

Pike was reviewing status updates on his new ship of the line when Commander Spock walked into his office and came to a halt in that ever so Spock way in front of his desk.

Pike didn't frown, but it was a near thing. The former Science Officer had already lodged his formal complaint to the Academy council. For all that he thought Kirk had potential in abundance, he could not deny his new First Officer's charges. He also couldn't deny the subsequent evidence of cheating found during the council's investigation.

"A moment of your time Captain."

"Is there problem?"

"Problem is neither an appropriately adequate nor precise term for this situation sir. Permission to speak freely sir."

Pike took a seat. "Go ahead." Spock and speaking freely were a near oxymoron. He couldn't wait -

"I need to reaffirm your commitment to the prime directive."

What in the heavens?

"Where are you going with this Commander?" he asked firmly.

He remained silent, stoic as ever, and the corner of Pike's mouth turned down.

"It is not my practice to intentionally endanger the members of my crew and after nearly a decade of serving with me, you well know that."

"I am aware Captain. However, there is a need for me to verbally reaffirm." He was starting to get a suspicion of where this was heading.

"Then, as a Starfleet officer, I reaffirm my commitment to the Prime Directive."

Spock nodded ever so slightly.

"There is what I have only been able to classify as a warning to convey." Then again, maybe he didn't know where this was headed. "With your permission?"

"Continue."

"In summary, an unknown event of sufficient scale to cause mass casualty is imminent. Near verbatim:

"My instincts are good," excision, "they are screaming," excision, "it does not bode well," excision, "it will be massive in scale." Stop. Excisions. "It is imminent and large scale," excision, "cannot say if it will be catastrophic," excision, "sufficiently significant loss of life." Stop. Excisions.

Pike sat up in his chair and leaned forward, fully alert.

"I know to prepare for fallout and a large impact area," excision, "It could be here, it could be in space, it could be on Vulcan," excision, "It simply will be." Full Stop.

He stood, his presence command incarnate. "Details Spock. Immediately."

"Sir, I requested additional details and relayed my obligation to share the warning. In response, I was told, verbatim: your superiors [emphasis] have already shown that their interests do not necessarily align with my best interests. I will not [emphasis] take kindly to their additional scrutiny or hospitality."

Pike carefully concealed his frustration, knowing full well it would be lost on the Vulcan. As far as Spock was concerned, the matter was being addressed as it should and/or could be with the urgency it was due in the most logical manner possible.

"When and where did you receive the information." What was he withholding, excising? _Why_ was he doing it?

"The warning was brought to my attention approximately twenty seven minutes ago during my dedicated meditation period. I came to your office directly."

He frowned. "Why didn't you call me immediately?" Why didn't _she_ tell him directly?

"A compromise had to be reached sir." A compromise? "Your office was deemed most appropriate and the travel time not detrimental. Visual support for your reaffirmation of the prime directive was also required."

' _I want to know exactly what your expectations are Captain.'_

' _And what efforts do you expect me to make Captain? I will state it very clearly now that I will not be pushed to extend myself, my knowledge, or my connections for an endeavor that I do not approve of.'_

' _I was under the impression you made a living helping others extend their lives.'_

' _I do but there is a difference between extending a helping hand or offering hope and out right cheating death.'_

Hell.

* * *

McCoy could easily spot Hari entering the lower tier of the assembly hall. He could also spot Uhura spotting Hari enter the lower tier with Spock.

He honestly couldn't tell who he felt more for: Uhura, Spock, or the rest of them. Hari could be a right menace when she chose and for some reason Uhura was hell bent on getting Hari to recognize her.

Uhura was too proper, too professional to outright glare or openly fume, but her chin raised just that little bit in irritation. After his ex, he could tell a woman on the edge of a war path. After meeting Hari and getting caught in her shenanigans? He paid close attention to any would be targets if only to avoid them and mitigate any method by which he could somehow turn into collateral damage.

Women.

As the members of the Academy council began to arrive, conversation started to fade. When the senior officers and school advisers took their seats, so did every one of the cadets. At the same time, and without the need for a command, all conversation ceased.

"James T. Kirk. Step forward."

Damnit Jim!

* * *

The gall of the woman! There was no reason for her to be here. To insist that she had a place amongst them was absurd! She wasn't a cadet and ensured everyone knew she wasn't a cadet by the way she dressed. The way she insisted on behaving around Commander Spock was grounds for dismissal from the grounds alone!

Nyota didn't seethe, but she certainly didn't show any warm feelings for the woman.

* * *

Pike sat quietly, back straight and mien serious.

"An incident has occurred that concerns the entire student body. Academic immorality by one is an assault on us _all_. It will not be allowed to stand. Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council suggesting you violated Regulation Seventeen four-three pursuant to the Starfleet Code of Ethical Conduct. Is there anything you care to say before we begin?"

"Yes, sir, I do. I believe I have the right under the same Code of Conduct to face my accuser directly."

After some discussion with the administrator to his right, the commandant looked directly at Spock. He rose immediately in silent understanding, confidently descending the auditorium steps.

Even from where he was sitting, Kirk's look was could only be described as venomous. Yet, Spock's gaze was equally venomous in its indifference.

"Cadet Kirk, this is Commander Spock, one of our most distinguished graduates. He's the current programmer of the _Kobayashi Maru_ test and has improved it considerably. At least, it was regarded as improved until your last run-through threw many of the modifications into question."

"Cadet Kirk," Spock opened with an impressive amount of control. "Much time was spent assessing relevant information following your recent taking of the test in question. Upon careful review, it became clear that you activated a subroutine that had been embedded in the programming code, an insertion that somehow succeeded in evading all protective firewalls and resets, thereby changing the conditions of the test."

That was unsurprisingly concise for Spock, not that he expected any less from him. Still, he was certain the Vulcan was as angry as a Vulcan could get…

"Your point being?" Kirk asked. Pike internally closed his eyes in wariness and a certain amount of defeat.

"In academic vernacular," Admiral Barnett enunciated coolly, "you cheated."

" _Respectfully_ ," the unrepentant cadet shot back, "you wouldn't accuse me of cheating unless you knew something I don't. The test's rigged, isn't it? I pretty much …"

* * *

Harriet sat like the general she was as Admiral Barnett began. While this was far from a court martial, Kirk needed the reminder that he'd chosen to join what was at its core a military institution. Furthermore, it was imperative for him to understand that carelessness, petulance, nonchalance, and other such disregard for peacetime training was a recipe for pain during times of duress.

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario." Spock's stare and apparent equanimity remained unchanged.

Kirk visibly bridled. "I don't _believe_ in no-win scenarios."

Harriet bristled. 'Your _beliefs_ are naïve and _disrespectful_ of the sacrifice of your own father!'

"Then not only have you violated the rules," Spock calmly replied, "you have failed to understand the principal lesson that is embodied in the test."

'Darn straight.'

Harriet suddenly became hyperaware, her mind's eye absorbed in taking in the slightest detail, the slightest changes in the air and the midshipmen around her. Something was happening…

"– A captain cannot cheat death. The inevitable must be met with as much skill and resolution as possible. When 'winning' is self-evidently not an attainable goal, the objective must be to preserve and protect as much as one can –"

As time seemed to speed up again, she just knew that whatever had triggered that inner 'dangerous & unnatural' surveillance ward of hers wasn't happening in her immediate surroundings.

'If not _here_ , _where_?"

" – achieve what can be achieved when survivability is no longer an option. To achieve – not to evade."

"Maybe you just don't like that I beat your test."

"I am Vulcan. 'Like' is not a verb in our vernacular. I fail to comprehend your indignation."

The part of Harriet that was still following the trial couldn't help but concede that statement was very likely a truthful confession on Spock's part. She couldn't recall his ever using the word or the truly expressing the concept. He had slight behaviors that indicated preferences, but no emotions or responses that indicated 'liking' something per se.

"I've simply made the logical deduction that when considering your recent performance and your rationalization for the actions you took, that you're a liar."

Kirk feigned astonishment. "What an idiot I am for taking that personally."

"At last: something on which we are agreed."

They most certainly were. In an abundance of understanding.

….She was an excellent multi-tasker sure, but why was half of that extra bit a her so intent on staying in this room, focused on this trial? There was no threat _here_ that she could identify.

" – artificially altering those circumstances, you introduced an element that was outside the given parameters of the test. As a consequence, those cadets under your 'command' had their own response compromised. To satisfy – "

She'd known Spock could cut deep with his words alone. He was not disappointing.

"Have _you_ taken the test, Commander Spork?"

" _Spock_. As a Vulcan, I require no additional training to control my narcissism when making command decisions. They are and will always be invariably based on reason, logic, and the facts as they exist in reality."

* * *

"This is a Red Alert – all officers are to report to duty stations."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Untold Story of Petya, Notpetya; Homemade Food. Hari cooks for Spock. Misunderstanding about the meaning. (partial fill for Nessamir); Drama Queens; Stick to the plot! 2


	26. Ready, Steady, Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Style change here to fit the main prompt: Calling all archetypes!
> 
> Enjoy!

[Calling all archetypes, calling all archetypes!]

[Can everyone line up?]

((salute!))

[Great. Step forward when your name is called.]

[McCoy, Leonard!]

((Whisky Priest, Sidekick, Voice of Wisdom))

* * *

A sea of brightly colored Uniforms (damnit Hari!) set into motion around Bones, hurrying toward exits in as much of a controlled manner as possible; no one wanted to be the last out.

Except Jim. The center of attention one moment, forgotten the next. He made his way over, knowing perfectly well Jim would need someone to at least kickstart him. Then knock him across the back of his head.

Just as he reached his paralyzed form, Captain Pike passed them both with a terse: "Cheating isn't winning." He had a damn good point.

One look at Kirk's shocked face and he knew the statement had cut deep.

"Come on, Jim. You heard the order. Let's move."

"But – "

"MOVE Jim. The hearing is in recess. They'll get back to it soon enough."

He gave a nod of understanding, then walked out into the corridor, a still slightly dazed Jim behind him. The atmosphere in the halls was thick with a mixture of anticipation and tension. No one knew why the alarm had been sounded. The cadets as a whole seemed to be divided between those who were excited at the possibility of experiencing real "action" for the first time and those who thought it was all merely a drill – possibly some sort of last ditch effort by Kirk to disrupt his trial.

But McCoy knew precisely what he had signed up for and a chill went down his spine. No 'drill' would call all hands to senior _cadets_.

Jim eventually pulled even with him, his expression darkening as he glanced over.

"Who _was_ that pointy-eared bastard?"

"A pointy-eared bastard I'm back to liking." And wasn't _that_ difficult to swallow.

Jim's look of surprise, hurt, then stubborn detachment was just as difficult to stomach as they walked.

By the time they arrived at the main hangar, it was in a state of organized frenzy. Cadets and other personnel were reporting to stations as their assignments were delivered and occasional conflicts sorted out. Maintenance personnel ignored them all as they proceeded with preparations for launching several dozen shuttles. Support teams checked out ships and loaded equipment. Everyone knew their job, everyone knew where they were supposed to go.

As he and Jim were no different, they joined the crowd around their designated reporting station. Around him, different squad leaders bellowed names and assignments. Soon enough he heard his name called.

"McCoy – _Enterprise._ "

Was it a blessing or a curse he'd be on the same ship as Hari for who knew how long?

* * *

[Spock!]

((Military Officer, Nerd, Gentleman, …))

[Knight-errant, you have 5 more seconds to decide.]

* * *

Even as the commandant's voice boomed over the swirling mass of Starfleet personnel, not all of whom were human or humanoid, Spock moved with confidence and purpose to his station. There had been no drill scheduled and the cadets would not have been so hastily graduated if it were not an emergency. Patience. He would know soon enough where the fleet was headed and why it needed to be at full force.

He ran through the datapad listing orders and relevant information that had been made available to him as First Officer.

Then, for five seconds round, his mind faltered in shock. Vulcan. Where else in the 40 Eridani A System would they be headed? They were headed to Vulcan to answer a distress call.

'Mo-'

No. Now was not the time. He was a Vulcan and a professional.

'Are you a Vulcan first or a professional?' Hari's voice asked him.

He was a Starfleet officer – A Vulcan Starfleet officer – and whatever mission lay before him, he would conduct himself as such.

While answering Vulcan's call with everything he had.

* * *

[Uhura, Nyota!]

((True Contender, Over Achiever))

[Right. Sure. Anyone else?]

[No, tropes aren't being called in just yet.]

((Damsel in Distress *huffh huff*))

[Really? That's a hard sell.]

_Nyota was most definitely an overachiever and thought herself a true contender for Spock's attentions. The problem was, neither Spock nor Harriet seemed to acknowledge that. Currently, however, that was not a pressing point. The pressing point was where she'd been assigned. Or better yet, where she_ hadn't _been assigned._

[Right, great, thank you.]

[First: no running. Second: get back in line.]

* * *

He was conferring with several other officers when cadet Uhura made her presence known.

"Commander – a word? If you can spare me some time?"

He met her gaze for a moment, then favored his fellow officers with a slight nod.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me for a moment." He stepped a distance away before turning back to consider her. From her stance, he had the distinct impression this would not be simple.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Was I not one of your top students?"

"Indeed you were," he replied without hesitation or inflection.

"Did I not receive a gold rating for xenolinguistic skills in all categories, from constructive verbalizations to click, whistle, and atmospheric manipulations of all kinds, giving the Academy first place over Kyoto _and_ MIT at the Oxford Linguistics Invitational?"

"An exceptional achievement, I – "

Heedless of his superior rank, she interrupted him without so much as a 'sir' or 'by your leave.' Spock narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, an action that the newly graduated cadet missed the significance of in spite of her focused gaze. "And did I _not_ , on _multiple_ occasions, make it clear that my dream and the reason behind four years of hard work was to serve on the _Enterprise._ "

"Vociferously and repeatedly, perhaps even to the point of obsession."

Uhura stood even straighter before she took a step forward. Spock responded immediately.

"Control yourself Lieutenant. I will remind you I am your superior officer," he said with a stronger tone. He was not entirely unaffected by her aggressiveness, but he most certainly was not moved by it. Her slip in professionalism slightly confused him though.

She took a step back, and jutted out her chin slightly.

"Sir. In spite of my skill, achievements, and stated goals, _I was still assigned to the_ Farragut."

Spock considered her for a long moment, weighing Hari's words from several months ago. Perhaps there was even more validity to it than he had credited her. He would have to convey his increased understanding when he next encountered her. Regardless, Uhura's unprofessionalism was unacceptable and, ultimately, helping her remember that professionalism was essential to her development as an officer.

"I will not play favorites Lieutenant, nor will I reward your unprofessional behavior."

"Sir!" Was she actually shocked he would say as much to her? Or was that frustration registering on her face. Even after a year of interacting with Hari, he still had difficulty interpreting human emotions with accuracy or precision. "I am simply very passionate about my dream, the dream I've worked very hard towards achieving, _sir._ "

At this point, Spock registered what he thought might be labelled as concern for the agitated young woman standing before him. He understood what it meant to work hard toward a life changing achievement. But to be so agitated over a temporary placement it caused this level of unbefitting behavior? It was both irrational and perplexing.

Unless… unless it wasn't unprofessionalism so much as the presentation of an appropriately logical argument… Perhaps he was overcorrecting for his lack of understanding of Terran emotion? Was he being too cautious in the face of the advice he had sought from various sources?

He weighed her argument and presentation, both with and without consideration for his still unreliable understanding of Terran emotion, against the benefits of adding another exceptional albeit recently graduated cadet to the crew – the same crew that was headed to Vulcan to answer a distress call.

In the end, he could find no reason based in logic to deny her request.

"Very well," he answered.

With no further comment, he let his gaze drop to the readout sheet he was holding. One finger moved against the touch-sensitive material before he pivoted and returned to the essential work at hand.

* * *

[Harriet!]

((Antihero, Mad Scientist, Battle-Axe))

[Whell. Not what I was expecting.]

[Yes, questions?]

((blah blahblah blah blahbla blah?))

[Yes, Brave Hero, previous deeds and backstories count. Did you have the same question Chosen One?]

* * *

"McCoy, _Enterprise_!"

"Good."

"For GOD's _sake_ woman, make some sound when you move."

Her only response was to give him a small side eyed smirk. Then Jim opened his mouth.

"Who are you?"

The smirk transformed almost instantly into a tight expression of disapproval.

He could already hear Harriet's internal 'Rude!'

Bones looked heavenward.

"And you are?" Damn, he knew that tone…

"Kirk, James Kirk."

"Ah, right, the cheater." 'Damnit Hari!' Dismissing Jim's presence entirely, she turned back to him, asking: "Can I sit with you? First time in space and all."

Bones looked at her incredulously. "You're kidding me."

"Possibly. But I brought coffee!" she said brightly, holding up her travel mug. Did she ever go anywhere without that thing? And where the heck did she always store it? "I've never understood why people prefer to bring towels with them instead…"

"Right." He considered her for a moment. "Did you bring any of that tea?"

Head tilt. "I'm fully stocked. Just in case." He forgave her near instantly.

… Was she actually wearing her vegetable jewelry again? In uniform? – right, she was wearing _her_ version of the uniform, not an official one. Still. And why the heck was she carrying a pillow around for. And why did she look like she was about to hit something or someone with it?

He turned and looked at Jim. Right.

"Look, Jim – I gotta go."

"Yeah – yeah, go ….," he forced out. Harriet was entirely unaffected but Bones was sure she could read the conflict playing out inside him on his face.

As he turned and hurried off without Hari, he suddenly felt like he was suffocating in his uniform. As far as his nonexistent but entirely too compassionate heart saw it, he had no real choice.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hari's nose flare of irritation before she too wandered off – in the appropriate direction.

* * *

[Spear Carrier!]

[Spear Carrier!]

[*pinches nose* WHERE is the Spear Carrier?]

* * *

Not more than an hour had passed since she'd 'retrieved' her ready bag and Harriet was already missing Mrs. Thurston and the shop. She missed the woman's steady, level headed approach to life. She missed the smoothness of the café's wood countertops, the table that she had claimed for herself and Spock, and the clear light flooding through the shop's windows that seemed to bring both to life.

She also missed the roominess of the shop. Roominess was a thing. A very important thing. A very important thing that whoever had designed this particular carrier shuttle had completely ignored. It was simply too cramped for her personal preferences. Sure, it was a shuttlecraft, and she was sure it would execute its lovely little shuttlecraft duties very well, but it most certainly wasn't a Takayama-type shuttlecraft. Now THAT was a shuttlecraft.

She sounded like such a princess.

'I might as well settle in and make sure Bones has a seat. Who knows what kind of madness he's about.'

Technicalities regarding 'space' aside, she really didn't like the idea of embarking onto the Enterprise without some sort of back up. She was as prepared and ready for whatever was coming as she could be. Yet she hadn't been particularly bothered when her mind slipped into a lower grade version of 'battle mode,' as she tended to think of it. The only real signs of her having entered it were a seemingly more serious mien and the addition of a long, thigh length dragonhide shirt under her standard knee length tunic, an inch or so hanging past the tunic hem.

She'd also made a point to leave her holly wand in her hair: two ready and loaded holsters did not low grade make. One however...

Even distracted by her own thoughts as she was, her mind noted the shuttle steadily filling with cadets. The presence of each of Spock's students was marked, her mind likewise giving them critical once overs to ensure Spock received a thorough report on how they appeared to be handling the situation – when he o so conveniently 'forgot' to ask for one.

My she missed Mrs. Thurston. Who else was going to tell her she'd started acting vaguely like the general she was, then chastise her and send her off 'to have fun' somewhere?

Did the _Enterprise_ have a Joe's?

'I wonder how she and Smaug are getting along?'

* * *

[Redshirt!]

[Redshirt!]

[No Redshirt? We've gone this long without a Redshirt?]

[Really?]

[... How?]

* * *

A Klaxon began to sound as the shuttle began running through the final countdown procedures prior to liftoff. Harriet could hear Bones talking to the junior officer stationed at the boarding ramp only because she'd been semi-anxiously waiting for him to high tail it on board.

"… suffering from an inflamed epididymis complicated by excessive swelling of the ego region of the cerebral cortex. Got exposed to gram-negative bacterium in the lab. Was writing out the order to send him to the hospital when the alert sounded."

Is this seriously why he'd nearly missed the shuttle? To smuggle Kirk on board? And really, mud flea virus? Harriet took a forced moment to control herself as she continued to listen in on the conversation.

"Wholly internalized, transmittal vector is only via direct fluid exchange, no danger to anyone else. He should come through fine if the fever he's suffering from now doesn't boil his brain."

"He's not cleared for duty aboard the _Enterprise_. In fact, according to records, he's not cleared for duty anywhere. It says here – "

"Look, we're operating under Red Alert conditions and I don't have time to argue. I'm cleared for duty on the _Enterprise_ , and Starfleet Medical Regulations state that the treatment and transport of a patient is to be determined at the discretion of his attending physician, which is me. Since I'm assigned to this ship, so's he, even if temporarily. Check your regs: medical evaluation supersedes academic dispensation."

In spite of herself, she smiled. It was always rather fun to see Bones set in on someone. Still, as far as Harriet was currently concerned, Kirk was just short of being wholly expendable. Why was Bones doing this? The nuisance looked like he couldn't even believe he still had legs!

"Or would _you_ like to explain to Captain Pike why the _Enterprise_ warped into a crisis situation without one of its senior medical officers?"

_This_ , Kirk, was a fine example of how to keep your head under pressure, get what you want, and still maintain the bearing of an officer. Both the morality and legality of what he was doing were by nature dubious, but the reasons for which he was going through this charade were vaguely acceptable … if you took the 'he's a great friend just trying to help out' standpoint.

A new alarm began to sound, indicating imminent departure. "As you were."

"As _you_ were." The snark! "Keep walking. Try to help me Jim. Make your legs work." Her lips twitched.

When he started to drag Kirk further in, she made sure she, and the place she had reserved for Bones, were visible.

Head lolling, face inflamed, Kirk goggled up at him, and managed to garble out a question: "I have legs?"

Harriet snorted and stood by her original opinion. Okay, maybe she was still *quite* upset by his performance and overall behavior. Still. Second chances shouldn't just be given out on a whim without proper consequences being realized afterall.

Bones had no difficulty finding her and his seat as the final alarm sounded. Kirk had no difficulty getting a seat or two to himself next to Bones either, despite the lateness of their arrival.

Harriet very pointedly gave Bones a look she hoped conveyed the volumes of snark and disbelief she felt. McCoy just focused on getting himself and Kirk properly settled. It wasn't until he was done suitably terrorizing Kirk with his delightful bedside manner, that he looked at her with a strange mix of determination and resignation in his eyes.

Harriet set her lips in a thin line, and looked out as the compact craft climbed through the atmosphere.

'And so it begins.'

* * *

[Kirk, Jim!]

((Dandy, Soubrette, Miles Gloriosus, Mary Sue, - ))

[Only four to a line please.]

[NO SHOVING!]

* * *

No less than an hour ago, Kirk had been on the verge of becoming a candidate for quick dismissal from service. Then there'd been the Red Alert and the truth of just how close he'd come to losing everything he had worked for, everything he had wanted, had likely (hopefully) stabbed (somewhere near) home. He had painted quite the picture, just standing there, surrounded by hundreds of cadets, soldiers, support personnel, and others, seemingly only just realizing how alone he was. This wasn't an experience he could smile and charm his way through, nor was it one he would be able to brag about later.

It was a harsh lesson he was learning, but a lesson he needed to learn all the same. Still, Bones simply couldn't have left him there to suffer through that alone. Despite the opinion Harriet had conveyed in the look she'd given him, Jim wasn't dead weight. He had heart and potential – when he wasn't acting … ridiculous.

'So help me, I almost called him a dunderhead.' Heaven help him.

Accelerating steadily, the shuttlecraft climbed through the atmosphere and he did his best not to think on how uncomfortable he felt as it did so. Dark blue sky gave way to violet and then, with a sense of awe decidedly coupled to a strong sense of terror he had yet to lose, to black. Below, the curve of the Earth stood out like a jewel in an onyx setting, beautiful and precious.

Even with the shuttles that proceeded and trailed them, it still felt as if they were utterly alone in the universe. He knew from personal experience that feeling only served to enhance the experience of leaving the earth behind.

'Why couldn't she have chosen a spot without a port?' He mentally grumbled. He gave her a side glance, then sighed internally. Thanatophobia or no, if it truly was her first time in space, he couldn't express that particular thought out loud or hide in a windowless room.

"Welcome to space Hari."

"Circe bless," she whispered.

He still couldn't figure out all the magic references she used in her admittedly amusing and creative exclamations and curses. Still, the awe in her voice made his heart twitch to life a bit.

Then Starbase 1 came into view, and even he had to take a moment. A city in space, the base thrust out enormous transverse arms that terminated in dock and repair facilities for starships. Unusually, every one of them was presently occupied, each with a swarm of servicing craft readying them for departure.

"By the hands of Heka only," Hari murmured. He had no clue who Heka was, but he understood the sentiment all the same. It was an incredible sight.

None of that mattered when the arc of the compact craft brought them partially around the starbase and started to zip in toward a port though. Almost immediately, those on board spotted the clear and sharp markings of the ivory-hued metal and composite skin of their destination.

U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701

"Well, there she is." Pause. "Too bad she doesn't have a racing stripe. I'm sure she deserves a racing stripe." Nod.

Kirk nearly choked. However, every last one of the disbelieving glances that had been sent her way were ignored in favor of her continued scrutiny of the vessel. Bones himself was more interested in the nod. With Harriet, it was important to note the nods as they generally indicated she was seriously considering something perfectly ridiculous – and may act on it.

"She's fine just the way she is," he said gruffly. She merely hummed skeptically in response.

'The poor crew.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Calling all archetypes!; A long overdue meeting: "Kirk, Jim Kirk" (fill for Ryuus2); Coach and Economy are the same thing, darnit!; "her first meeting with Jim to involve smacking him repeatedly with a pillow" (partial fill for Ryuus 2)
> 
> As always, Thank You for reading!


	27. The Bard's Song

Harriet and her pillow disembarked from the shuttle to organized frenzy. She stepped to the side, and stood for a minute, studying her new surroundings and allowing Bones and the struggling-to-walk Jim to pass her.

After taking in the corridor and the confused expressions of the too-busy-to-ask crew, her and her pillow followed in the wide wake Kirk's appearance afforded, arriving at the lift just in time to continue following Bones.

Turning to Harriet, Bones asked: "Where are you assigned? And can you _please_ help me?"

"NO and Med Bay something or 'other."

"Har Har." Sarcasm at its finest.

"It's Hari actually." She smiled brightly. Bones silently pleaded for his sanity even as he cursed Jim's inability to properly walk.

"Right. You take care of that, and I'll go put down my pillow."

"Why the hell are you even carrying that thing?"

"Pillows have many virtues, not the least of which is how handy they are at smacking others across the head." She pointedly looked across him to Jim.

Bones just shook his head. "Come on Jim. We need to get you changed."

"I don't feel right. I feel like I'm leaking."

McCoy apparently still had alertness and energy enough to notice Spock coming in their direction. "Damn, it's that pointy eared bastard." He quickly ducked to the side. Not that Spock would have noticed: he was far too absorbed into his padd and whatever tasks he was completing.

Harriet went about her way.

* * *

Pike was leaving his ready room for the bridge when she walked in, a pillow of all things in hand. How she got in without his express permission was something to address later at this point.

"Miss Luna."

"Captain."

"Is it important?" He acknowledged her nod with one of his own, then headed towards the door. "Walk with me." Thankfully, she got straight to the point.

"The time is here Captain. I recommend defensive maneuvers." Well, to _a_ point at least. While he knew this conversation was coming, he didn't particularly care for her timing. Still, the matter had to be addressed and it was better to have it settled.

"On what grounds? Forgive me, Miss Luna, but you have given me no actionable evidence."

"Then consider, Captain, the circumstances of the USS Kelvin and its fate." Pike paused, then turned to look her directly in the eyes. Harriet met his stare dead on.

"The correlation?"

"The energy surge prior to the distress call is near identical to that recorded before the Romulan ship attacked it, no?"

"Are you certain?"

"Yes but feel free to review the similarities yourself."

Besides the fact she shouldn't have known that information as a civilian without need to know, she had a point – one which he had a duty to his crew and his fellow captains to acknowledge. As such, he promptly turned around and made the short trek back to his ready room without bothering to properly end the conversation.

Time was short and, if nothing else, Harriet could be depended on to protect herself. And Spock for that matter.

From the corner of his eye, he noted that Harriet kept walking, seemingly unhurried and unbothered by the information she had just imparted.

What else did she know?

* * *

The bridge was buzzing with activity, officers walking about here and there, settling into their stations as the _Enterprise_ prepared for departure. It also near sparkled with its newness, all so shiny and unused, it nearly made her eyes hurt. While others would likely admire this shine in the newly installed instruments and unvarying multihued glow of projection monitors, she imagined Spock would be pleased primarily with how everything fit together as intended and functioned properly at first touch.

Vulcans.

The little nods to history were nice though: an engraving of an aircraft carrier bearing the same name, a miniature mop and bucket, a brass pocket telescope. She wondered how many of the crew recognized or even registered these little details? They were ultimately irrelevant however. Her purpose for coming onto the bridge lay elsewhere.

Quietly, she made her disillusioned way across the bridge to stand by the captain's chair. It was empty, for now, but that wasn't the point; Pike would be there soon enough. In the meantime, she focused on the sensation drawing her forward, subconsciously twisting a ring that was no longer there.

On what would have been the third twist, Elros came to stand quietly beside her. She wasn't particularly surprised all things considered. He had always been a source of strength for her. He stood tall, and confident, reminding her of what it meant, and took, to face both life and death head on.

"Worrying shall take you nowhere good little sister. What's done is done, and what shall happen, shall happen. All we can do now is prepare and wait."

True. But was there any time left to prepare? Was there anything left _to_ prepare? Was the crew ready to become, as she suspected, battle tested?

Spock briskly stepped out of the turbo lift onto the bridge and took his seat. He ignored her as she came to stand by his station. The presence of her pillow, and the absence of a reaction to the pillow by the officer next to his station, was likely enough evidence for him to deduce her presence was not discernible by the greater portion of the bridge.

If this were to be her end, then so be it; Death was an old friend and Elros had stood beside her nearly as long.

And now there was Spock.

She discretely etched the same runes for safety and strength into the underside of his station, as she had done upon the edge of the captain's chair. He merely paused to look down briefly before returning to the work at hand, never giving a true indication she was there.

Then, she rejoined Elros' tall, regal form, standing on the other side of Pike's chair, silently keeping watch as a pseudo night seemed to dawn upon the _Enterprise_. Snatches from an old ballad over took her:

_Tomorrow, will take us away,_

_Far from home,_

_No one will ever know our names…_

_Tomorrow, will take it away,_

_The fear of today,_

_It will be gone…_

_Tomorrow, all will be known,_

_And you're not alone,_

_So don't be afraid of the dark and cold…_

Tomorrow would come and that was enough.

* * *

"Mister Spock," he stated as he entered the bridge.

"All decks report ready for launch Captain."

"Very well." He took a moment to look around the bridge, letting his gaze rove the bridge as he strove to make contact with each member of his crew. "Many of you have served with me before. To those who are new to duty, I extend a hearty welcome and my apologies for the haste with which you have been called into active service. Circumstances dictate speed as we have reason to believe Vulcan is in distress and is in need of immediate assistance, potentially of a defensive nature. I know that every man, woman, and crew member will do their duty and I am proud to serve with you.

"Carry on." He took the command chair. "Medical Bay?"

"On standby sir."

"Good." Shifting slightly in his chair, he briefly initiated the communicator. "All decks, this is Captain Pike, prepare for immediate departure." Disengaging the com, he continued. "Helm, thrusters."

"Moorings retracted, Captain. Dock control reports ready. Thrusters, fired. Separating from Spacedock."

"The fleet's cleared Spacedock, Captain. All ships ready for warp."

"Set course for Vulcan."

"Aye aye Captain. Course laid in."

"Maximum warp."

The Lieutenant moved to do as told, his fingers sliding deftly over the helm controls, and punched it – only for nothing to happen.

"Lieutenant, where's Helmsman McKenna?"

"He has lungworm, sir," the lieutenant explained uneasily. "He'll be fine but was unable to report for duty. I'm Hikaru Sulu."

He pursed his lips. "And you are a pilot, right?"

"Uh, very much so, sir. I'm, uh, not sure what's wrong here…"

"Is the parking break on?"

"Uh, no. I'll figure it out, I'm just, uh..."

"Have you checked to ensure that all subsidiary connections to starbase have been disengaged?" his science officer asked.

The lieutenant, Sulu, navigated the controls for a few seconds before reporting: "Ready for warp, sir." Sulu checked another readout, struggling to look anywhere but at the command chair or the science station. "Dock control reports ready for our exit."

Pike nodded. "The external inertial dampener. That's… the parking brake." Having dealt suitably with his new helmsman, he activated the ship's intercom. "All decks, this is Captain Pike. Final preparations should be completed and all hands at flight stations. Prepare for immediate departure."

He looked once more at the helm.

"Now then, Mister Sulu, let's – punch it."

* * *

Harriet still hadn't moved from the spot to the right of the captain's command seat. While Spock was aware of the possible situation, and had received the updated command notations, he did not know why she had yet to return to medical bay. If they were truly answering a distress signal, they should all be optimally placed to best provide aid. He did not understand the logic behind her lingering.

"Engines at maximum warp, Captain."

"Good. Shields up, ready weapons, and prepare for emergency evasive."

"Yes, sir."

"Whatever's coming, we'll be prepared." Why did Harriet seem startled by Pike's statement? "Russian whiz kid, what's your name?"

"Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, sir."

"Fine, Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, begin ship wide mission broadcast."

"Yes, sir, happy to. Ensign authorization code nine-five-wictor-wictor-two"

The computer answered him with a predictable: "Authorization Not Recognized."

The ensign tried again. "Ensign authorization code nine-five-vwictor-vwictor-two."

"Access Granted."

"May I have your attention, please. At twenty-two hundred hours, telemetry detected an anomaly in the neutral zone. What appeared to be a lightning storm in space. Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from Wulcan High Command that their planet was experiencing seismic actiwity. Our mission is to assess the condition of Wulcan, and to assist in the ewacuations if necessary. We should be arriving at Wulcan within three minutes. Thank you for your time."

Spock could not read minds but he could tell the bridge crew was silently wondering why the Captain had asked them to ready weapons given the stated mission.

* * *

Somehow, Jim was up and awake in front of the monitor long before he should have been, gasping out, "Lightning storm!" Ever the solicitous doctor, and hoping that he could divert the med tech's attention away from his "patient," Bones stepped over.

"Oh good, Jim, you're awake. How do you feel?"

"ah.. uh..." Kirk's moaning in pain ensured everyone would remember him, but before McCoy could berate him for overreacting, he noticed the size of Kirk's hands – which had just swollen to elephantine proportions.

"Good god, man!"

"What?" When Jim got a good look at his extremely swollen hands, he followed that with, "AH! What the hell's this?!"

"A reaction to the vaccine damnit. Nurse Chapel," he called, "I need fifty cc's of cortazone."

"Yes, sir," she called back.

He proceeded to furiously scan Kirk to check for anything he should be worried about. The readings were not good; now his friend really had become his patient.

Then, somehow, Jim was stating: "We got to stop the ship!"

'Wait, what?'

Kirk had the nerve to whirl around as if it would be a simple matter for him to walk off but only managed a stride and a half before nearly knocking him down. McCoy glared at him; even Hari wasn't this ridiculous.

"What the hell are you d –"

"Something's not right," Kirk shot at him. "In fact, if I'm right, it's real wrong." He had the nerve to grab his arm and pull, stating, "Come with me, Bones – hurry!"

" _What_?" He jerked free of the younger man's hold. "Jim, I said _low_ profile!"

Then, _somehow_ , he was in a corridor, frantically running toward … somewhere. Flustered, and fearing for his friend, McCoy rushed after him. But Kirk was moving fast and managing to actually stay in front of him.

"Jim! Slow down! Wait a goddamn minute! I'm not kidding, we need to keep your heart rate down!" he said. Finally, Jim stopped to use a computer interface.

"Computer, locate crew member Uhura!" Bones took the time to search his medkit for the correct medication.

"Jim, I haven't seen a reaction this severe since med school. You need to come back."

"We're flying into a trap!" he insisted.

"Dammit Jim, stand still!" He promptly hypoed Kirk in the neck mercilessly and without regret.

"Ow! Stop it!" he said, even as he began running off again.

Then, _somehow_ , they were at communications monitoring station twelve on deck four, closing in on Uhura.

"Uhura, Uhura!" Jim called.

"Kirk, what are you doing here?"

"Sorry. Listen, I need to talk to you. The transmission from the Klingon prison planet, what exactly was..."

"Oh my god, what's wrong with your hands?!" Cue her likely realizing why Bones was so preoccupied with his medical scanner.

"It-it-it... look, who is responsible for the Klingon attack? Was the ship Woluam..."

"Was the ship what?"

Jim turned to look at him. "What's happening to my mouth?"

"You got numb tongue?" McCoy asked.

"Numb tongue!?" he jumbled out, horrified.

"I can fix that," he promised. (He could – Harriet was always insisting he be better prepared.)

"Was the ship what?" Uhura asked again.

"Womulan!" Kirk struggled to get out.

"What?" Really, he didn't blame her. Kirk really needed to get back to medical.

"Wolmun?" 'Found it!' thought McCoy; he was near frantic at this point.

"Romulan? Yes."

"Yes!" Kirk was barely intelligible at this point. All the more reason for him to be hypoed again.

"Ahh... dammit!"

Yet, _somehow_ , Bones found himself running through the corridors, _again_ , chasing after Jim. This time with Uhura.

"Jim!"

"What's going on?!" What a time for her to ask a perfectly valid question.

"Jim, come back!" as she simultaneously yelled, "Kirk!"

_Then_ , somehow, Bones found himself chasing Jim onto the bridge, which happened to constitute unauthorized entry onto the bridge – a court-martial worthy offense.

"Captain!" Damnit Jim! "Captain Pike, we have to stop the ship!"

"Kirk, how the hell did you get on board the Enterprise!" Any goodwill Jim may have still had with Pike seemed to quickly be draining away.

"Captain, this man's under the influence of a severe reaction of a Melvaran flea vaccine, completely – " he ignored Jim's attempt to dig himself into a deeper hole by speaking over him, "- delusional. I take full responsibility."

"Captain, Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster. It's being attacked by Romulans."

There wasn't a single indication of tolerance on the Captain's face. "Cadet Kirk, I think you've had enough attention for one day. McCoy take him back to medical, we'll have words later."

"Aye Captain." Why did he do this again?

"Look, sir, that same anomaly – "

"I'm already aware of that possibility _cadet_."

Kirk was stumped long enough for Spock to point out: "Mister Kirk is not cleared to be aboard this vessel." The Green Blooded Hobgoblin!

"Look, I get it, you're a great orator. I'd love to do it again with you too," Jim said rather caustically.

"I can remove the Cadet..." Spock started.

"Try it! This Cadet is trying to save the bridge."

"By recommending a full stop mid-warp when time is of the essence?" Did Spock just use a colloquialism? What the hell was going on?!

"Listen, it's an attack!"

"It very well may be," the Captain pointed out, "as those authorized on this bridge are already aware."

THAT shut Kirk up. It also brought his mind to a momentary halt: he knew medical was on alert, but he didn't know this.

"And the Romulans sir?"

"Kirk."

"Sir, the Kelvin attack took place on the edge of Klingon space and at twenty-three hundred hours last night, there was an attack. Forty-seven Klingon warbirds destroyed by a Romulan, sir. It was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship."

"And you know of this Klingon attack how?"

"Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself. Kirk's report is accurate." Uhura, backing Jim? Has hell frozen over?

"We're warping into a trap, sir. The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that."

"Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolinguistics, we would be wise to accept her conclusion." Was Spock _now_ supporting _Jim_?!

The Captain turned to the communications station. "Scan Vulcan space, check for any transmissions in Romulan."

"Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan," admitted the lieutenant at the station.

"What about you? Do you speak Romulan, Cadet?"

"Uhura. All three dialects, sir."

"Uhura, relieve the lieutenant."

"Yes sir."

"Hannity, hail the USS Truman."

"All the other ships are out of warp, sir, and have arrived at Vulcan, but we seem to have lost contact with most vessels. Active coms are detected but unresponsive sir."

"It's because they're being attacked," Jim insisted.

* * *

"Issue the red alert," the captain ordered.

"That's it? No shields?!"

Pike ignored him. "Sulu?"

"Arrival in Vulcan in five... four... three... two..."

They only 'noise' that filtered in to Spock's brain during the countdown was Harriet's whispered, "may death be merciful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Channel your inner Hollywood screen writer; You Are Not Alone (fill for Ryuus2); Hitting Jim repeatedly with a pillow (partial fill for Ryuus2); The Bard's Song (Blind Guardian)


	28. Into Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Jumping' is a modified apparition technique that I introduced in another writing style challenge I answered, called The Healer (FYI: It's not a writing style for everyone). Imagine being able to apparate in a more fluid like manner, similar to how Voldemort and Snape flew, leaving behind smokey trails and little sound, but with a strong hint of X-men's Nightcrawler's style of teleporting.

Ignoring toppling sculptures, trembling furniture, and the cracks that the walls fruitlessly endeavored to automatically repair, Amanda rushed outside. It was not the earthquake itself that drew her out onto the porch – it was the realization that whatever was causing the ground to shake was not a normal seismic tremor.

Across the desert landscape rocks were tumbling and bouncing down hillsides of brown and ochre. Cliffs cracked away as the pinnacles and spires she had known for most of her adult life began to crumble like columns of stale cake. And all the while the ground beneath her feet continued to quake with a terrifying constancy.

More disturbing than the steady and unvarying tremble of the earth was the gigantic pillar of swirling energy that was visible in the distance. Fire and fury, it appeared to be drilling into the ground as if the rocky surface of Vulcan were made of nothing more substantial than the Viennese _schlag_ of which Sarek was so fond.

Tilting back her head, she traced the colossal column of energy upward into the clear sky.

* * *

Pike tensed as they were greeted by chaos.

"EVASIVE!" he roared.

"ON IT, SIR!" was Sulu's immediate response.

Ultimately, his command was unnecessary. Having dropped out of warp directly in front of the flaring, disintegrating remains of the _Defiant_ , Sulu had responded instantly and reflexively to avoid the impending collision.

As they cleared the debris, what appeared to be the only two remaining ships of the fleet came into view, engaged in a desperate and losing battle against a gargantuan craft the likes of which he had never seen. A seemingly unending stream of torpedoes and similar deadly devices continued to detonate against the smaller ships, hammering away at their defenses. Yet nothing the vessels fired appeared able to penetrate the enormous defensive field that surrounded the hostile intruder.

Spock's voice, controlled as ever, was clear, if faster than usual. "No identifiable registry on the ship. Energy signatures, deployed weapons systems, design – all unknown."

"Get Starfleet Command on subspace!" he demanded.

Uhura's response was immediate and disheartening.

"Negative! All outsystem transmissions are subject to severe interruption emanating from the vicinity of Vulcan." Working quickly, she continued with only the barest of pauses. "I think I've located the source of the general interference. I detect the signature – very advanced, but identifiable – of a plasma drill operating in the atmosphere."

"Captain, they're locking weapons systems onto us," Spock reported.

"Continue evasive, come about starboard ninety degrees! Drop us underneath them. If their shields are indicative of the ship's design, they may be weaker along the ventral longitudinal axis. Prepare to fire all weapons!"

The following barrage seemed unending. As the _Enterprise_ shifted position, one of the lethal tracking explosives passed directly between her engine nacelles. A second detonated nearby. Overwhelmed shields buckled beneath the unprecedented power. Peripherally, he registered the isolated flares of combustion that continued to be extinguished one after another as the crew struggled to survive and fight back.

"Shields at thirty-three percent," Sulu reported. "The explosive force of their weapons is unprecedented Captain! None of our torpedoes have that kind of focused energy and we don't seem to be able to penetrate their shields with our own weapons." He looked apprehensively toward the command chair. "We can't take another hit like that!"

"All power to forward shields!" he commanded. There was no time for indecisiveness. "Continue evasive, Mister Sulu. Prepare to fire all weapons anew. They have to have a weak spot!"

'Heavens save us if they don't…' Pike silently thought to himself. As his ship shook around him, he refused to allow himself to dwell on the possibility.

"Get Starfleet Command on subspace!" he demanded again.

* * *

Harriet wasn't scared of death. She'd had too many near and actual death experiences to NOT be comfortable with Death's presence. She wouldn't, however, go so far as to say she welcomed Death as an old friend. Personally, she thought Death was a little too creepy for that. And come on, it was _Death_ , not Julio from the Schoolyard – that title deserved some serious respect.

Which is why she didn't – did not – shout at, attack, curse, or blow the bird to the being staring directly at her from across the bridge as if she didn't know whatever her death sense had been anticipating had already begun in earnest. Instead, she grimaced, never taking her eyes off the scene before her, never acknowledging the only being who _knew_ her with anything more than her cool observation of the situation.

Their ship was being near continuously bombarded by the enemy vessel. Even with some forewarning, there didn't appear to be much that Pike could do defensively – the attacks were too fast, precise, and destructive. It also didn't look like the other vessel was at all bothered by having two other opponents contending for its attention. In fact, it looked like the other two vessels of the line were desperate to share the attention with the _Enterprise_. In her own way, the _Enterprise_ was happy to help she supposed.

In light of the bombardment, she was thankful the light sticking charm she'd placed on her feet was holding. Given she'd made an express point to apply it in a strictly topical manner to the deck, a part of her was particularly pleased, as it allowed her mind to race through her inventory of potions, salves, old fashioned bandages and splints, and emergency medical apparatus with clarity and focus.

The same clarity and focus allowed her to rapidly compile and update a list of the hardest hit decks from the information being given to the captain. From that list, she anticipated where the most likely triage points could or would be set and estimated how many medical personnel were where.

Pivoting smartly from her place beside Pike's chair, she cancelled the charm and made to leave the bridge. When she felt death's stare turn toward Vulcan, she paused.

'So this won't be getting particularly better.'

She continued off the bridge and headed straight to the nearest computer interface. "Locate Leonard McCoy," she commanded.

If Vulcan was Death's problem, then there was work to be done, people to organize, and an emergency call to a mirror to attempt.

* * *

At some point Harriet had disappeared. At the current moment however, it was not entirely relevant. He had noticed, of course, that while around him stations were shaking and fires were erupting, his station had remained steady. In the recesses of his mind, he wondered if Harriet had solved her "not getting along with technology problem" and somehow used the ancient Norse symbol to channel or anchor something to his station.

"Captain, the commander of the hostile ship is hailing us!" Uhura informed.

"How are they cutting through the blanketing interference?" Chekov asked from his station. It was a question that Spock himself didn't think necessary to ask aloud; a waste of attention and a distraction for the crew. It was no time for speculation. Every minute they were not under attack was another minute the crew on devastated decks could use to make repairs and tend to the wounded; another minute engineering could use to try and restore the ship's defenses; another minute that which remained of the fleet could do the same.

"On screen," the captain told the communications officer. She complied and the forward monitor cleared instantly, almost as if the hailing vessel was intimately familiar with Starfleet communication protocols. How odd.

The humanoid that appeared on the viewscreen was clearly Romulan and did not look as if he had been recently engaged in a battle to the death with five Federation starships. To Spock, it was yet another confirmation of their superior weapons technology.

" _Your valor does you great honor, Captain, and the skill of your crew surpasses, however uselessly, any that has preceded, including your fellows amongst the fleet."_

"I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking," the captain demanded firmly.

" _Hi Christopher. You may address me as Nero."_

"You've declared war against the Federation. Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location."

The Romulan's reaction to the captain's reasonable offer was unexpectedly violent. _"I do not speak for the Empire! We stand apart, as does your Vulcan crewmember, isn't that right, Spock?"_

Confused, he stepped forward, even as every member of the bridge, other than the captain, not responsible for tactical and defense turned to look in the direction of the ship's science station. "Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted?" This was useful discourse: dialogue was time gained, regardless of his confusion.

" _No, we're not – not yet."_ Illogical. _"Spock, there's something I would like you to see. Tell me: at what price did the Federation turn you from your people? Where do your true loyalties lie?"_ He made a distinct point to maintain his stoicism and projected calm in spite of his curiosity? Alarm? Disquiet? Uncertainty? It was certainly no longer just confusion.

"I'll say what you wish if it will save lives," he responded, quite serious.

The Romulan, _Nero_ , abruptly altered his attention and his tone. _"Captain Pike, if you are already not aware of the fact, your transporter has been disabled along with your communications. You will man a shuttle, come aboard the_ Narada _, my vessel, for negotiations. As you can see by the state of the rest of your armada, you have no choice. That is all."_

Spock thought hard and fast. How much time would this Nero allocate for discourse when his vessel was so clearly superior? How long could the captain continue to stall the enemy? Why had he not been targeted if he was so clearly one of Nero's targets?

"As a sentient being who values honor," the captain, after obvious deliberation, began, "give me your word you won't harm my ship, or those others of the fleet remaining, if I come aboard yours."

Indifferent to the nonverbal exchange happening amongst the crew, Nero answered almost… genially? _"As sentient beings of honor, we have an agreement. I shall inform the remaining vessels of that agreement. You will be allowed sufficient time to depart and arrive. Any delay perceived as excessive will result in the immediate destruction of all vessels without prejudice."_ A clearly predatory smile appeared. _"I would recommend, Captain, that you do not loiter."_

The communication was terminated before a final transmission could be relayed.

* * *

This deck had been hit hard as well, to the point where he wondered if there was even much of it left. He didn't have time to wonder though, he once more needed to get to an intact medbay – this time one that hadn't just sucked all the oxygen from the room to suppress the fire that had overtaken half of the bay.

'Hopefully, some of the tools and supplies will be salvageable.' He wasn't going to wait to find out however. He'd send someone back as soon as he had a destination for those supplies in mind.

Grabbing as many intact medkits as he could, he set off at a quick jog to find a working turbolift. His com came to life.

"Bones," came Hari's voice with zero waver.

"Yea," he gruffed out.

"Where are you?"

"Headed to deck seventeen with additional kits."

"Head to bay seven instead. It's larger, closer, intact, full, and near unstaffed."

"Right." That didn't perhaps come out as unaffected as he'd have liked to project. Bay Seven was second only to central medical, designed to act as central medical in case of an emergency … or severe damage to central medical. He changed course immediately. "On my way. What else can you tell me?"

"You've been promoted."

 _Hell_.

"Also a high possibility for an external influx of patients. Soon."

_Merlin and Morgana!_

* * *

The captain was immediately on his feet.

"He'll kill you when he's finished with you, you _know_ that." (Why was the cadet still on the bridge?) "He's already caused the death of hundreds." (Has he been executing any duty?)

"Your survival is unlikely." The probability was indeed low: less than five percent.

"Captain, we gain nothing by diplomacy. Going over to that ship is a mistake," Kirk said.

"I, too, agree. You should re-think your strategy," Spock added.

"I understand that." Addressing the bridge at large, "I need officers who have been trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat."

"I have training, sir," Sulu answered near instantly.

"Come with me. Kirk, you too. You're not supposed to be here anyway. Chekov, you have the conn."

"Aye aye Kaptin."

Turning to face Spock and the cadet, the Captain continued. "Without transporters, we can't beam off the ship, we can't assist Vulcan, we can't do our job. Mister Kirk, Mister Sulu, Engineer Olson, will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside. You'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship."

Spock found his plan and orders to be a sound addition to his previous directives, if still inadequate.

"Mister Spock, I'm leaving you in command of the _Enterprise_. Once we have transport capabilities, and communications back up, you'll contact Starfleet, report what the hell's going on here. And if all else fails, fall back, rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system. Kirk, I'm promoting you to second officer, Cristians to first. Prove you deserve it."

"What?"

What? "Captain, please, I apologize. The complexities of Human pranks escape me." This was no time for humor.

"It's not a prank, Spock. And I'm not the Captain, you are. Be sure to keep track of Hari. Let's go." What more did Hari have to do with this? Suddenly, her disappearance became more concerning.

"Sir, after we knock out that drill, what happens to you?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, I guess you'll have to come and get me." He turned slightly to meet Spock's eyes. "Careful with the ship, Spock. She's brand new." And on that note, he left the bridge with the requested crew members.

He turned and strode to the Captain's chair; there was no time for confusion or indecisiveness. The first order of business was to assess the damage to the medbay.

"Doctor Puri, this is Acting Captain Spock. Report."

_"It's McCoy. Doctor... Doctor Puri was on deck six. He's dead."_

"Then you have just inherited his responsibility as Chief Medical Officer."

" _Yeah, tell me something I don't know. In lieu of orders I've been doing what I can."_

"Prepare all bays for mass triage. We must prepare ourselves for a possible influx of refugees from Vulcan."

" _Our facilities are stretched to the limit right now, Captain."_

"Understood Doctor. The need remains."

" _Right. I'll do the best I can –_ sir _."_

* * *

Harriet was by Spock's side as soon as he was within sight of the transporter bay.

"Clear the pad," Spock stated almost aggressively. "I'm beaming to the surface."

"Ditto." Harriet stepped on the pad and melded to him, Spock's arm subconsciously pulling her close to his side. She simply didn't trust the darn contraption otherwise and he likely knew it.

"The surface of what?" the annoyance asked. "What, are you going down there? Are both of you nuts? Spock, you can't do that?!"

"Energize," Spock commanded.

They arrived on Vulcan and Spock immediately set off at a breath-taking run.

"Objective?" Spock didn't answer. "Spock!"

"Evacuate the elders from the Katric Ark."

When they arrived it was to the confusion of those within the ark.

"Spock?" Amanda asked, surprised.

"We must evacuate, now!"

Even as he spoke, the roof was caving in, statues toppling toward the others within the cave. Harriet, quick as a whip, called _the_ wand from the loaded holster on her arm and put as much power behind her shield spell as possible, preventing a fair number of deaths as the occupants fled onto the surface.

"Spock to Enterprise," she heard. "Get us out now!"

"Locking on you," Chekov's voice stated. "Don't move. Stay right where you are."

"Harriet!" Spock called, holding out his arm.

"Everyone's out!" she called, running to clear the caves herself even as the group began to, for a lack of a better word, glow.

Chekov's disembodied voice continued: "Transport in five... four... three... two..."

"No, no!" Spock cried and Harriet instantly knew to let go and _jump_.

She'd forgotten how easy it was to _jump_. It'd been a long time since she'd really had a need to use that particular form of apparition. 'Decades, perhaps?' she wondered absently as time seemed to slow down.

'Panic.'

'Concentrate.'

Amanda was the only person Spock's tone would have changed in such a way for; only Amanda.

'Amanda.'

Amanda had been standing four feet away, just off six o'clock from the entrance to the Ark.

 _Jump_ one.

Not there, falling sensation. Amanda fell, she was falling.

'Which wa – there. Velocity, drag. Calm.'

 _Jump_ two.

'Flip, grab, GO!'

 _Jump_ three.

In the split second before she made the _jump_ , she imagined Spock was like a rock: solid and unmoving in her mind's eye. Hopefully that would be enough.

* * *

The main transporter bay was in turmoil as technicians worked furtively to finalize the progression. Seven shapes began to take form, one of them in an awkward position with one arm extended out as if to reach something and the other wrapped around something that was no longer there. Even as six began to gaze around them, Spock continued to stare off into the distance.

… Until two bodies landed on his head mere seconds before the ship entered into warp.

Then, he knew hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Invictus; Spock the Rock (partial fill for Derpeon)


	29. Emotionally Compromised

"Ouch."

Just – ouch. That's all she had. 'Cuz she hurt. 'Cuz really, she'd been falling, _fast_ , and then she wasn't, and now, now she hurt.

Ouch.

"Spock?" Voice, check.

"Here. Medical is on their way."

"Amanda?" Hearing, check.

A brief silence before a quiet: "Here. Safe."

"Good." Pause. "Ouch." Did her ouchies need potions? Was her satchel still in once piece and attached to her person? Wait, appendages first. Was all of _her_ still in once piece and attached to her person?

"I shall require a report."

Report shmort. "Nope." He could go dig a report out of a fresh pile of cruppcake. She briefly opened an eyelid to test the lighting. Vision, check.

"Harriet."

"Perhaps when this," she gave a low energy, unhelpful, barely off the ground wave of her hand, "is over with." Ouch.

Silence.

Then: "We will speak as soon as you are recovered." BAH! "I will ensure there is coffee."

LOVE!/ 'Manipulative Bum!'

[Pick one!]

* * *

"Acting captain's log, star date twenty-two fifty-eight point forty-three. We've received no word from Captain Pike since he was taken aboard the atypical Romulan vessel known as the _Narada_. As such, and pursuant to the relevant Starfleet regulations, I have assumed full command of the _Enterprise_ and classified him a hostage of the war criminal known as Nero.

"Nero, who has destroyed my home planet and most of its six billion inhabitants. While the essence of our culture has been saved in the elders who now reside upon the ship, I estimate no more than ten thousand have survived. I am now a member of an endangered species."

Was this how Harriet felt? Did this reality weigh as heavily upon her as it was now settling on him? Is this why she never discussed the topic of her true origins or her people?

"Based on readings taken as the enemy vessel departed and in consultation with the _Enterprise's_ computational facilities, it is hypothesized that its next destination may be the Sol system – and, presumably, Earth. Further updates will be forthcoming as new information is available."

Yes, it was perhaps best that he speak with her when she was recovered. It was very likely he was in shock. A discussion with her would likely help him sort what meditation would not. He did not require that she confirm or deny his hypothesis; simple discussion would suffice in this particular instance.

Turning off his recorder, he moved from his spot on the bridge to complete a round of … medical. During times such as this, it was important for the captain to be seen by the crew. He needed to convey calm, control, and steadiness to maintain an adequate level of morale. For now, he would hold on to that need and "take comfort" in the steadying embrace of logic and duty. There was much to do.

He ignored the looks of pity/ empathy sent his way by the crew.

* * *

Spock didn't announce himself so much as bring his distress within "hearing" distance of her attuned magical senses.

"I'm here for your report Heale-"

"Hari, Spock, just Hari." She still felt a bit tender. Probably looked it too. "And as stated, I have nothing to report." Were either of them in any right state to handle hashing out recent events? "At the moment." Maybe later.

He raised an eyebrow. "You cannot expect me not to demand greater detail on how you managed to, in coarse terms, teleport, Harriet."

No, she couldn't – it would go against everything that made Spockety Spock Spocket, Spock. Still…

"It's not teleportation, of that much I can assure you." She stopped long enough to remove the compress from the side of her head and study it before continuing in the same exhausted tone. "At least, not properly. Teleportation is moving something instantly from one place to another. _Jumping_ , as I've termed it, is a cross between several fields of study, namely Apparition and Transfiguration, and what amounts to smoke in flight. I actually stumbled on it by accident some time ago…" She looked up at him. "I really don't have the time to explain how it works and how _dangerous_ what I just did happens to be."

(Panic)

(What if she hadn't been able to make it?)

(What would have happened to Amanda?!)

She caught herself and took a deep, controlled breath. Then promptly held out her hand.

"I distinctly remember hearing something about coffee."

Silently, he produced her mug. 'Wait, what? When did he get that?!' She looked at him askance.

"It is a replica I acquired in anticipation for a similar situation."

Of course he had. And he just so happened to remember to pack it?

"Right. Sure. Now, tell me what's happened and what's next." She settled into her bed, ignoring the last of the _ouch_ still invading her muscles. Nearly all of medical was overrun, but, in their confusion and curiosity, and given she'd apparently not been ambulatory, they'd simply placed her temporarily in a bunk.

Really, there were too many people about for her to feel comfortable having this conversation. He very well knew this, too. So why was he -

"Vulcan is destroyed," he said quietly.

Oh.

(Panic)

(What if none of them had made it?)

"Of its six billion inhabitants, I estimate that no more than ten thousand survived." Horror slowly began to overtake her panic. "An additional number yet to be determined are safely scattered elsewhere throughout the Federation and its allied systems."

She closed her eyes in sorrow, forcibly compartmentalizing her panic, growing shock, and continued Death induced anxiety. "And so it came to pass." After a moment of silence, she opened her eyes. "How are the refugees handling the loss?" she asked. It would not be appropriate for her to ask after his own shock in public but the question was general enough for him to include his own current state in his response if he so chose.

"Many are traumatized in ways that humans cannot understand," he confessed. "It is for the Elders to mind-meld with them where possible and see to their treatment with appropriate medications should such contact prove insufficient."

She nodded her head absently in understanding, already mentally listing what skills and services she could and would offer to assist.

"Here," she said, putting down the compress and taking a moment to dig around in her satchel. She handed a vial to him. "I'm likely not good for much for a few hours yet, but drink this. It tastes terrible so I suggest mixing it with something but it's perfectly safe. It will temporarily help with the shock," she said quietly but pointedly.

After staring her directly in the eyes for what seemed like minutes, but was only seconds, he took the vial and pocketed it.

"I'm serious Spock," she added in Vulcan.

"I understand," he quietly acknowledged in the same language. "I agree to discuss the matter further when time permits." She nodded her head in acceptance. "I also insist on discussing the nature of your … _jumping_ in greater detail." This time, she hesitated a bit before reluctantly nodding her understanding. After so public a display, it wasn't a discussion she would truly be able to avoid.

He considered her for a moment before asking another question. "You are certain this matter is not yet settled?"

"Without doubt."

* * *

"Hari, how the heck did you get that couch onboard?" Bones asked. Harriet had been moved back to her room for rest soon after she'd finished speaking with the green-blooded hobgoblin. If she could carry on a conversation with him of all people after whatever she'd done to completely exhaust herself like that, she wasn't critical and there were others who were. The rest he just couldn't deal with right now.

"Irrelevant. Would you like to play monopoly with me?"

"What's monopoly?" No, he wasn't getting into any of her antics. He was already rather disturbed he was hoping she was still tired enough to have this discussion with him. "Actually, no, I don't have the time." She pouted. "No, Harriet." She sighed and put the long box with the bright colors down.

"What do you need then?" she asked in a professional tone.

"Your help. What do you know about empaths? And don't tell me nothing. There's some sort of flag in your file about it." Damn. It was times like this he wished he had a better sense of tact to go with his excellent bedside manner.

"My file?" she asked, nose flaring. Darn it, he wasn't trying to pry, but he needed all the hands he could get. Her getting defensive about this wasn't going to help him or the patients for which he was desperately trying to find additional hands and aid.

"I'm Chief Medical Officer now Hari. I've got bay after bay of injured and wounded." She was eyeing him critically. He didn't have time for this! "Look, I already knew you did more than just make teas. You're a practicing physician with years of experience and official Starfleet training. Whatever is between you and fleet command stays between you and fleet command. This is about the patients."

She considered him a bit longer before she nodded. "Fine. That is partially why I'm here anyway. Still, there's nothing more in the bay that I can help you with. You know perfectly well I'm pants with the equipment and I've already helped with triage."

"But you don't specialize in using equipment. What can you do _without_ equipment? What resources do you need to make something for shock? To address parapsychology related injuries?" She was too serious, too visibly hard for him to feel comfortable speaking to her with their usual banter. Whatever her issue with Starfleet was, it ran deep.

"Send them to me, and I'll see what I can do. First, however, I'll need an office space, preferably attached to or near my own personal quarters. It'll make treatment easier. Second, I'll need some autonomy. I'm not Starfleet and I'm sure you've picked up that I'm not entirely here by my own free will. Third, I'll need you to remember I'm not a counselor Bones, I'm a healer. There's a difference. Perhaps not one you'll understand or accept, but there's a difference nonetheless."

His face pinched a bit. "I'm _Chief_ Medical Officer Harriet. I can't just let you go off on your own and do what you want."

"I didn't ask you to." If she weren't so dead serious and near militant, he'd argue with her like he usually did but now most certainly wasn't the time.

"Fine. I'll find you new quarters and leave treatment to your discretion. But each one of 'em checks in regularly with one of the ship's counselors and you keep their charts updated in accordance with Starfleet protocols."

"Understood. Now get out."

Damn. What the hell had Starfleet done to her?

* * *

"What game is this Hari dear?"

"It's called Monopoly."

"So I see."

"An old friend seems to have stuck it in with my things some time ago. I found it while I was cleaning out my home one day. Would you like to play? Unfortunately, both Spock and Bones are too busy to play at the moment."

"…Is that coffee?"

"…Would you like some?"

Amanda hesitated but eventually took the cup. After a small sip, she placed the cup down on the table, well aware she was most certainly _not_ drinking coffee for all Harriet's efforts to replicate the taste.

"Harriet, is there something you would like to tell me?"

"Such as?"

"Such as how it is at all possible that I'm alive right now." Was that hysteria creeping in? Were those her hands shaking?

Harriet considered her answer before selecting an oddly shaped miniature hat and placing it on the corner of square game board marked 'Go'. At least she assumed it was a game board.

"Which piece would you like to represent you? You can use a cup, a diadem, a sword, a locket, a journal, a grim, a wolf, or a stag. I'm pretty sure these aren't the original pieces, but I'm not entirely sure where those are…"

Amanda took a moment to scrutinize Harriet's face before continuing. Outwardly, she appeared to be worrying over the misplacement or loss of the game's original pieces. Yet Amanda knew that wasn't entirely the case. Harriet hid it well, but there were times when it was clear she wasn't entirely in the moment. Even after all the time they'd spent getting to know each other, Amanda couldn't properly guess at where her mind went in those moments, which made it difficult for her to remind herself at the moment that Harriet was a trained and experienced healer: it was very likely Harriet was simultaneously worrying about the lost pieces and Amanda's own peace of mind.

"Is there any advantage to using one over another?" she settled on, temporarily reigning in her emotions. Perhaps Harriet was also in need of comfort?

"No. Everyone starts off equally."

"Then why don't you choose one for me then."

Harriet hmmm'd. "There may be no particular advantage to using one over another but each piece does have its own particular appeal. Which piece calls to you the most?"

"What does each piece represent?" Amanda truly did her best to keep her rising frustration/ fear/ panic/ anger out of her voice but she wasn't so sure she succeeded.

"Now _that_ is quite the question – one with a very involved answer. But I am not asking you to choose merely to frustrate you." So she knew perfectly well her refusal to answer the question was getting to her. "Our choices say as much about what we wish to say as they do about who we are. What do you choose?"

Amanda took a deep breath. "The cup."

"Hufflepuff with a heavy dose of badgerism at play." Harriet nodded and placed the piece on the board. Then she began counting small pieces of … paper? Was that ancient currency? "Would you say you're more angry or confused?"

Amanda startled. Was there a segue she had missed? Still, it was a very good question.

"Both?" she offered uncertainly.

* * *

Spock was having a hard time confronting his failure. There was no other word to describe his inability to save Vulcan, to even successfully rescue his mother. Instead, it had been Hari – Harriet – who had succeeded in carrying out his goals. For all the power and technology he had at his disposal as acting captain, it had been another who had preserved his family.

He felt anger. Deep and unmitigated anger at his failings, at his impotence. He felt deep and unmitigated sorrow at watching the very real and complete destruction of his planet, his homeworld, … his _home_.

Now his anger included the complexities of both his inability to truly cut ties with those who would so readily cut times with him and his deep desire to prove his place amongst those very same individuals and their social constructs.

He was… overwhelmed by these emotions, which added _even more_ to his frustration at being unable to understand and handle that strange combination of _**anger**_ and _**sorrow**_.

Then there was the complexity that was Harriet. His mother's survival was both a relief and an impossibility. Yet it was also _very real_ and he was burdened now not only with his _failings_ but also his extreme gratitude.

… was this what it meant to be emotionally compromised? Was he capable of overcoming this, this _turmoil_ and continue on with his duties as Captain? His duty to the crew? Was he truly any better off than those _refugees_ they had managed to _rescue_?

…Had he played any role in that rescue? Or had he failed in that regard as well, leaving it to others to focus on such efforts while he so selfishly _and ineffectively_ went to rescue the elders?

He was not blind to the fact that it had, again, been the efforts of Hari that had preserved the lives of those within the cave, that resulted in the preservation of the _katric_ ark those elders had been attempting to shield. Together with its contents, the ark represented all that was good and noble and revered in those who had called the desert planet home for it held the soul of the ancient known as Surak. Yet that too could have been lost if Hari – _Harriet_ – had not used her innate abilities to shield them from the ceiling, statues, and other falling debris within the cave.

For once, kneeling before his altar, attempting to take a moment to calm his mind before he returned to the bridge, did nothing but bring his _angersorrowfailuregratitude_ to the forefront of his mind rather than the rear.

He only just registered the sound of depressurized air that indicated his door had been breached.

"You're thinking too loud," a voice eventually stated behind him.

Harriet. He did not wish to speak with Harriet. Inexplicably, his anger extended to her as well.

Why was she here? Why did she sound so healthy!? Not an hour previous, she had been near drained of energy! He snarled mentally, which sufficiently surprised him out of his anger enough for him to hear her next words with clarity.

"Speak your mind Spock," she said more quietly.

"I am angry!" he exploded, near jumping to his feet. "I _feel_ anger. And conflict. And I cannot control either!" Realizing he was moving to loom over her smaller figure, he stopped himself and turned back to face the altar. It's symmetry and simplicity once more failed to induce the ritual effort to achieve emotional freedom he regularly engaged in.

"Do not try to."

He turned to her sharply then. What did she mean? How could he not?! Was he not a Vulcan?! Did she no longer recognize this?!

It was only as he ended the thought that he realized he had spoken aloud, likely with no thought for filtering the anger out of his voice.

"I recognize you as being as Vulcan as you have always been Spock. That has not changed. That will very likely never change." Was she truly unmoved, standing there so calmly within the door to his personal quarters?

Another thought came to his mind. "How are you so unaffected? Barely three-quarters of an hour have passed and already you are recovered." Yes, that was most certainly bitterness and accusation in his voice.

How it _distressed_ him further!

Harriet merely snorted in the face of his … outburst. "Recovered? Hardly." She moved to lean on the entryway's frame, some of her tiredness showing. "But this is not the first tragedy I have faced. And it will likely not be the last. For now, there are those who need me." She paused, then added, "there are those who need _you_." He did not answer her. Truthfully, he could not answer her.

_angersorrowfailuregratitudeineffectiveness_

"I am no longer fit for duty," he concluded.

Once more, Harriet merely snorted. "And the rest of us?" she asked with some force. "Are we no longer fit for duty? Can we no longer perform our duties admirably? With everything we have to give?"

… she was correct. Somehow, while the anger did not leave him, it still seemed to flee, leaving only a tiredness he could not explain in its wake.

"We all have a role we must play if we are to survive here, Spocky Pocky." His eyebrow twitched. "If you do not perform yours, with the professionalism, intelligence, and diligence that role demands of you, who will?"

… she was correct. Logical. He closed his eyes and he decided after a time that he would struggle to embrace that logic in every way that he could.

As he determined this, she continued. "Look, Rocky Spocky, we are the masters of our fate, the captains of our souls. That doesn't mean the bludgeonings of fate will find and shall find us unafraid, or our heads occasionally unbowed. The point, is that we stand straighter and stronger when the fell clutches of the shade seek us next." She straightened and came to stand before him, looking him directly in the eye. "Death is still here, is still waiting. It stands in a corner staring at me from under It's cowl, reminding me, _us_ , that something more remains to be done."

_She leaned into him_.

And then _placed her arms around him_.

"I don't have the time or desire to explain how I came to know the entity known as Death, but I know it. Well. If It only gave so much time and indication about Vulcan, how much time do we have to deal with this _Nero_ and his next target?" She looked up at him, her green eyes bright in the low light of his quarters. "What do we do next Captain?… Death is waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "How the heck did you get that couch onboard?" (fill for Ryuus2); "Let's play monopoly" (partial fill for redhouseclan); "I see dead people"; Invictus: attempt II


	30. Ripples, Not Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will likely seem like a shorter chapter, but this chapter's structure challenge is to write 3,000+ words with no sections, which resulted in the same average chapter length but also a sense of "shortness."
> 
> I am also straying from the multiple third person POV for the sake of experimentation, since this challenge allows for it. It was surprisingly hard and I'm not entirely happy with the result.
> 
> There is a heavy dose of blending and remixing of both the book and the movie in this chapter. Be Ye Warned.

Uhura was focused on attending to the ship's communications at her station, listening to the ether for anything of potential import. That did not keep her, however, from noticing the Captain's return to the bridge with the civilian woman behind him.

Kirk had been peering down at something on the captain's chair when they walked in. Looking up at the new arrivals, he gave into his curiosity. "What's this symbol for?"

"It keeps unwanted things away," Hari deadpanned as she took up a position leaning against a nearby rail, looking slightly drained.

"Who are you again?" Kirk asked with intense curiosity. "Why is she even on the bridge?" Kirk continued, turning back to look at Spock.

"Really Bones?" Hari asked, eyebrow raised in her best Spock imitation. " _I_ ," she stressed at Kirk, "was invited. Speaking of which, why?" Spock stared back at her stoically, silently reminding her she already knew the answer to the question. "Right." She folded her arms across her chest and ensured her lean projected as much confidence as possible.

"As it stands," Spock started, "we've not yet received any kind of orders or recommendations from Starfleet on how to respond to what has happened here. This suggests that even our emergency transmissions are still being jammed, deflected, or otherwise prevented from reaching the nearest relay. Likewise, we have not received word from either the _Farragut_ or the _Exeter_ regarding their status following our confrontation with the _Narada_. It is highly possible neither survived the confrontation."

Kirk nodded in agreement. "We have to assume that every Federation vessel and planet is a target. Since we still have no idea what's motivating this Nero and his crew, we have no way of predicting for certain where or how he'll strike next, other than a best-guess estimate that he may be heading for Earth." His gaze met Spock's. "If only we knew the 'why' of the carnage he's causing."

"Agreed," Chekov added, "but vhy didn't they destroy us? Vhy try to destroy all the other ships and not the _Enterprise_? They have demonstrated vithout a doubt that they have the capability to do so."

Sulu shrugged. "Why waste a weapon? We were seriously damaged and no longer a threat. Especially if they have greater goals in mind."

"That's not it. He said he wanted me to see something. The destruction of my homeworld. If, insofar as we have been able to determine, they are indeed heading for Earth, then their ambition and intent suggests the destruction of a single remaining starship is no longer high on their agenda."

Standing, as usual, slightly off to one side, McCoy was, as usual, finally unable to contain himself. "How the hell did they do that, by the way? Where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry?"

Spock nodded imperceptibly. "It is a question, Doctor, that I have been mulling over with deep concern ever since our initial encounter. The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer. Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time, though from what we know of the possibilities, such a voyage would be extraordinarily risky for anyone attempting it."

"Dammit, man! I'm a doctor, not a physicist," McCoy snapped. "Are you suggesting they're from the future?" Then, catching the look on Harriet's face, added, with all the incredulity he could add to his frustration, " _Are you serious_?"

"I~, well..." Those on the bridge not otherwise involved turned to stare at her. "You can't disregard what has _perhaps_ not been _mathematically_ proven," she hedged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kirk asked impatiently.

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," she quoted.

"Saint Clarke," Spock identified, still evaluating her.

"How poetic," McCoy commented sardonically.

"For some, Doctor, the possibility of time travel is nothing less than magic. Or poetry, if you prefer. For the enemy we now find ourselves facing," he turned his gaze back to Harriet, "it may simply be a matter of sufficiently advanced technology."

She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, restraining herself from pinching the bridge of her nose in a very Snape like manner.

"You are an Ambassador – "

"It's _impossible_ time travel!" She exploded, hand flying out to emphasize her point. "It's _dangerous_ , even more dangerous than _jumping_ an unknown distance!" Her mouth settled into a tight-lipped frown, tone a mix of anger and confusion.

"You are not saying time travel is impossible."

"Whell, look, no – no, not important. The important issue is the _impossible_ time traveler. What could this Nero possibly gain by coming back to this _particular_ point in time?" Bones eyed Harriet with concern – likely in regard for her mental stability.

"His intent in traveling to this point in the past would appear to be to significantly alter it."

"Thank you Captain Obvious. The question is _why_?" Her nose flared impatiently. The crew stared – had she just said that to _Spock_? Uhura bristled at her station. "Why would he take _Captain Pike_?" The 'instead of you' was left unspoken yet the officers on deck became even more uncomfortable for knowing it was a valid question. Who was this woman?

Sulu was the only officer to venture a response into the ensuing silence. "As Captain, he does know details of Starfleet's defenses. He knows as much as any admiral. If their next target _is_ Earth and they felt certain of being able to penetrate its defenses, why else would they want him except to extort information?"

Spock took a seat in the captain's chair, an act which immediately annoyed Kirk.

"We need to catch up to that ship. Disable it, take it over, and get Pike back," Kirk growled.

"We are technologically outmatched in every way," Spock said, letting the matter of _possible_ time travel drop. "A rescue attempt would be illogical."

"Even though we think ve know their destination, Nero's ship vould have to drop out of warp for us to overtake him," Chekov pointed out.

"Then, what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp yield, if only for a short period of time?" Kirk forced out, doing his best to ignore Spock's perceived indifference. "As you'll remember, we were required to consider such possibilities as part of courses dealing with emergency situations."

"As _you_ might remember, such possibilities remained only possibilities as they risked complete destruction of any vessel daring to attempt such extreme manipulation of its warp field. Engineering is fully occupied restoring our drive capability and helping repair damage, without which we cannot communicate with Starfleet."

"Okay, alright. There's got to be some way..."

"We must gather with the rest of Starfleet, to balance the terms of the next engagement."

"By the time we rendezvous with the fleet and the fleet is redeployed, it'll be too late. Too late for Captain Pike and too late for Earth. You know how Starfleet operates – by the time they decide on a strategy and issue orders to move against Nero, he'll be finished with Earth and on his way to still another doomed system. How many planets are you going to risk?"

"And how shall we effectively assist those planets? When thoroughly analyzed, the information we've gathered about the enemy warship may point the way toward some method of defeating them – but _only_ if we assemble the fleet to balance the terms of our next engagement. It may be that by bringing sufficient firepower, even if it is inferior firepower, to bear, it may be possible to destroy their advanced vessel through sheer force of numbers."

"There won't be a next engagement," Kirk insisted. "By the time we've gathered, it'll be too late – "

"Unfortunately true." Harriet cut in firmly before Kirk could truly get started with his nearly insubordinate rant. "With every passing hour, his chances for survival dim." _That_ threw cold water onto the conversation. "However, I maintain this isn't about Captain Pike. This is about Nero and the _Narada_ and _impossible time travel,_ " she stressed.

Kirk let out a sharp breath. "What the hell is that supposed to mean!" When Harriet's only answer was to look at him as if he were a few stars short of a constellation, he changed tactics, refocusing on Spock. "With all due respect, what about loyalty to one's commanding officer?"

Ignoring Kirk, Harriet kept the conversation on task and away from the more sentimental arguments; they would do little to nothing to sway Spock and the vast majority of them knew it. "If they're headed straight toward another target, which they very likely are, regrouping with the fleet will cost you more time than it already has."

Although thoroughly angered, Kirk nonetheless attempted to continue the momentum behind his previous argument. "She's right, whoever she is. Captain Pike also ordered us to go back and get him. You're Captain now, you have to – "

"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mister – "

"When did he say he wasn't?" Both Harriet's voice and the look on her face very clearly conveyed her irritation and raising anger at his hyper focus on rescuing _only_ Pike. " _Really_ , Bones."

"Not the time Hari," McCoy bit out, concerned for both his friends and desperately trying to remain out of it.

"You're Hari? Why are we supposed to keep track of you? _Who. Are. You_?" Kirk's tone was getting progressively aggressive.

Again, Harriet wondered at his ability to follow a single train of thought. "Keep track of me? Ah, yes, well I suppose he would say that…" She furrowed her brow. "Well, given everything, I suppose this is where that promise I made to Fleet Command comes in…"

"What promise?" Kirk demanded, as if he himself was Captain.

She turned her head to look Spock directly in the eye. "Well then, officially, I stand by what I said: this is about Nero and the _Narada_ and _impossible_ time travel: we really can't let that go unchallenged. Rescuing Captain Pike would be a very pleasant bonus."

"Bonus?!" Kirk lost all pretense of calm and took a step forward.

"Jim!" McCoy called, restraining him physically with an arm on his shoulder. The other officers on the bridge looked on uneasily. This was no time for a confrontation.

Harriet stood her ground, unmoved by the aggression and face schooled in a manner so Spock like, it was disconcerting to the rest of the bridge and like oil to fire on Jim's anger. After a tense moment of disbelief, Harriet lifted herself off the railing and angrily addressed the officers before her. Following Kirk's outburst, her voice rang like a bell in the relative silence of the bridge.

"Do _any_ of you properly understand that the mere _act_ of his time transverse has altered the flow of history in ways no one can truly comprehend? That he's effectively _split_ time?" She was practically hissing. "It's absolutely irresponsible! _Further_ ," she continued with ner a breath, "any knowledge of the future he may have brought with him is absolutely useless. If this is not the first, but _second_ , time jump he's made, we're effectively living in an alternate reality. Does that mean _nothing_ to anyone?!" She took a deep breath. "Fine! As a Special Envoy, I have this to say officially: remember Directive 10 was respected, Article 14, Section 31 applies, Regulation 191, Article 14 no longer applies, Code 1 is particularly relevant, and implementation of Regulation 13982 by _ANY_ member of Starfleet will be seen as a breach of trust."

Kirk stepped away from Bones' restraining hand and looked around the bridge, finding confusion very similar to his own, adding further to his anger and frustration.

"The merits of time travel aside, we could speculate on an infinite number of possibilities, any of which might prove fruitful but none of which exist at the moment. And at the moment I am charged with carrying out Captain Pike's last order," Spock rejoined. It was clear _he_ , at least, wasn't confused by the non-uniform wearing woman known as Hari.

"And what was that order, _precisely_ , because this isn't something that can _just be allowed_." She was pushing the bounds of acceptable behavior on the bridge, but it was the truth.

Kirk cut in before anyone else could. " _ **If all else fails**_ , rendezvous with the fleet."

Spock hesitated. "While not precise, that is correct."

"There is more left to 'fail'!" Kirk insisted. At this point, those who knew something of Kirk expected him to explode. He did not. "Captain. _Spock_. We've all been through a lot the last couple of days. You more than anyone. But I ask that you separate your feelings from – "

"I have," Spock broke in. And he had. Somehow, Harriet's rather vile concoction had helped. "You may rest assured on that point. Were I not to do so, I could not reasonably remain in command. Must I point out that while I have lost the bulk of my species I have acted and continue to act in a wholly rational and logical manner, whereas you – "

"Every second we spend discussing alternatives, Nero's getting closer to his next target and probably closer to extracting what he wants to know from Captain Pike!"

"Then we are in agreement," Spock replied tightly. "Therefore, I'm instructing you to accept that I alone am in command and that I alone am the one responsible for making decisions that govern the actions and response of this vessel."

Kirk responded with an entirely different argument that, in all honesty, lacked common sense.

" _Not if the ship's Chief Medical Officer says you aren't_."

McCoy stared at the back of Kirk's head in horror. "Oh crap. No, don't do that. Jim – "

Spock's gaze was as hard as his voice. "Your attempt at subterfuge is insufficiently subtle to disguise your true intentions, _Lieutenant_. You will cease this course of action or suffer the consequences."

Kirk didn't allow him to finish before he was talking again. "Under Regulation 121," Kirk declaimed, "I'm citing you as being emotionally compromised and therefore unfit …"

This time it was Spock who stepped forward. "Yet you are the one acting emotionally, as I am certainly willing to have a board of inquiry determine. As of now you are relieved of duty – if you were ever formally _placed_ on duty."

Kirk's eyes swept the bridge. There was some sympathy in the eyes of his fellow officers, maybe even some understanding – but no support. He had chosen to cross a very dangerous line, and it was now clear that he had crossed it by himself. Again.

"If I confine you to the brig, the very resourcefulness that makes you potentially a good officer will likely result in your escape. You will be transferred to a venue where you can utilize your talents to whatever degree you desire, but where you will not be able to adversely impact this vessel's assignment. Security, escort him out."

Two security personnel stepped forward to firmly grab Kirk's arms while McCoy looked on in a mix of horror and disbelief. His expression only intensified when Kirk shrugged the personnel off and swung hard to his right, quickly throwing a follow up elbow to the back of the other as he continued twisting. The first officer reached for his side arm. As he began struggling for control over the phaser, Spock approached quickly, efficiently ending the scuffle with a Vulcan nerve pinch. Kirk immediately fell to the deck, unconscious.

"Get him off this ship."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 3000+ words with no sections [almost made it!] ; Incomprehensible time travel (inspired by Ryuus2); Spock the Rock 2
> 
> (Starfleet Charter) Article 14, Section 31: The exact language has never been cited, but certain lines in this section permitted the use of "extraordinary measures" in times of dire emergency
> 
> Directive 10: "Before engaging alien species in battle, any and all attempts to make first contact and achieve nonmilitary resolution must be made." (VOY: "In the Flesh")
> 
> Code 1: Signaled either a total or imminent disaster, a possible invasion, or indicated that the Federation was either currently or about to be engaged in open warfare with a hostile power.
> 
> Regulation 121: The chief medical officer has the power to relieve an officer or crewman of his or her duties (including one of superior rank) if, in the CMO's professional judgment, the individual is medically unfit, compromised by an alien intelligence or otherwise exhibits behavior that indicates seriously impaired judgment
> 
> Regulation 191, Article 14: In a combat situation involving more than one ship, command fell to the vessel with tactical superiority, should there not be a higher ranking officer present.
> 
> Regulation 619: The commanding officer must relieve themselves of command if their current mission leaves them emotionally compromised and unable to make rational decisions.
> 
> Regulation 13982: Allows a Starfleet captain to conscript almost any person into service during a time of war.


	31. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly out of hand length wise. Still, I hope it brings some of the initial levity back to the story. Also, it's not entirely shameless filler as it fills that time gap between Kirk being jettisoned and his return to the ship.

Harriet left the bridge and headed straight to her quarters for supplies. Every sickbay, including central medical, remained full to overflowing. In addition to the Elders, a number of other citizens of Vulcan had managed to survive the catastrophe that had eradicated their home world. Most had been working in bases on T'Khul, the Vulcan system's third world, and had been beamed aboard the _Enterprise_ subsequent to Vulcan's destruction. As Spock had stated, many were traumatized in ways that humans could not understand and the Elders could only do so much.

That was where Hari came in. It took some Very Vulcan ™ forcefulness on Spock and Bone's part to pave the way, but in the end, Hari was "surprisingly" adept at helping mentally distressed telepaths, empaths, and other types of psionic energy users. Well, Vulcans weren't properly telepaths or empaths, but the concept was close enough for her mind healer studies and centuries of experience to prove exceedingly useful in assisting those on the psionic spectrum.

It began in the bay where the Vulcan elders had gathered to treat the "least" severely affected with a very typical Harriet approach: tea. She arrived with her personal med kit and several carafes of different concentrations of "calming draught" and "tension relief." She gave the two elders present a perfunctory introduction, then went to set up a "tea service" station off to the side.

The Vulcans, at least those who were aware enough to properly realize what she was up to, were a mix of weary, grateful, and confused. But given Spock and all of her Death directed Vulcan studies, she had some training and experience with that as well.

At the moment, she was pouring a carafe of tea into cups. She was sure the Vulcans would give her what equated to an odd look or so when she bypassed one or another of their number without sharing her bounty but those missed this round would have their tea soon enough.

"What are you pouring Healer Luna?" a voice asked from over her shoulder.

"A tea to help relax tension in the body. Calming the flesh is an important step in calming the mind."

The elder, as only one of the elders would have come to question her, didn't seem particularly convinced. She finished off her pouring regardless of his skepticism.

"Who do you believe would be better served by your tea when our own medicines are more likely to prevail?"

"Tea _is_ a form of medicine all its own. But it is not intended to heal all ailments. As someone aware of how medicines work, you cannot deny a less distressed body receives treatment more readily." She supposed Spock never mentioned she spoke Vulcan, given the brief look on his face when she replied in Spock's particular dialect. "This particular tea is not for everyone however. I will deliver it now and come back for you to identify those patients that require something to aid with shock."

Well, she would have come back, if the elder had not decided to follow her as she completed her round of the bay the elders were using.

As expected, there were those who were unsure of why their neighbors received a tea cup when they did not. They said nothing however, merely glancing at the elder over her shoulder without a word to her person.

Irrelevant. She continued her round.

"You have a good eye Healer Luna," the elder commented in Vulcan.

"I have a good memory Elder. Between your descriptions to our doctors, my studies, and my experience, I've learned what to look for."

"There are matters surrounding Vulcan physiology and psychology that only a Vulcan can truly understand Healer."

Hari only hmmed, completed her round, and returned to the makeshift station she had created. This time she picked up several smaller carafes and began pouring sparingly into the sterilized medbay cuppettes she had found.

She really needed to come up with a better name for the little things.

On her next round, she passed a cup of her choosing to those she had missed, sometimes one of each blend she had poured. Again, the elder followed her and again, he commented.

"Do you believe you will affect much change with so little, so broadly targeted?" he asked. It was a test. Vulcans were not fond of treating ailments with medications and preferred more natural, targeted remedies. She respected the approach given it was so close her own. Heal the mind, respect the body, soothe the soul: the improved health of the whole will follow. She said as much when she returned for one last time to her station. Her patients, after everything, deserved a sweet.

The elder eyed her now open box of small Vulcan hard spice candies. "I was not aware one of the crew carried such an inventory as yourself, Healer Luna." For something said with very little inflection, it was quite the pointed question. She ignored the inflection, placed the box on the station, and began to clean up. If said sweet just so happened to be dosed with a bit of nutrient potion, so be it.

"Yes, well, no one was quite sure what we were doing or where we were going. It's always better to be over prepared with the sweeter bits of life in such cases," she said casually.

When she was done packing up her kit of carafes and cups, and had placed several trays next to the sweets where the others could be returned, she turned properly to the elder and held out a sweet. "When they are ready, any who are willing are welcome to come visit the room I have commandeered. I believe it will be quite soothing. At the very least, it will be an environment conducive to the healing process."

The elder took the sweet, likely out of politeness, and followed her to the door.

Then followed her _out_ of the door.

"I can only assume you wish to see the space immediately Elder."

"You assume correctly Healer." So then _all_ Vulcan males were just short of verbose – exceedingly short. Well that answered that question.

"Then you are welcomed to follow," she intoned, leading the elder through the halls and up a level to her space. It was rather unfortunate her "treatment" room wasn't particularly close. It wasn't far per se but it certainly wasn't as convenient as she would have liked. Still, it would serve its purpose well now that she was done redecorating. She wondered if the Vulcan would appreciate it… Bones certainly hadn't.

When she arrived at the appropriate door, she touched her hand to the rune she had etched into the side of the door _without_ the interface. She staunchly ignored the small medallion sized mark centered on the door just about eye level.

"I do not recognize the symbol placed upon your door."

"No, most do not," she said without any hint of forthcoming elaboration. The door opened, letting her and the elder in.

… How did one ask for a name when one had not been polite enough to stick around to receive it the first time?

"Yet you take it as your personal mark," the elder stated as he followed her in.

"I did not choose the mark, the mark chose me."

She swept her gaze around the room after stepping off to the side. It was relatively plain: simply painted coffee cream walls, shelves of dark wood of various lengths in groups of three here and there on the walls, and tall paper lanterns rising from the floor. There was a tasteful Vulcan sandrock colored fainting couch upon which to read or daydream, a three-dimensional chess set on a table with additional chairs for spectators, and a lower circular table, complete with a full tea service, surrounded by cushions with stylistic Vulcan designs.

Eventually she would add plants, but they were a bit hard to come by at the moment.

The sound of the door opening caught Harriet's attention and she turned.

"Amanda! How can I help you?" she asked, her face lighting up in delight.

"I came to ask for a bit more tea." She paused, looking at one of the furniture pieces in the room. "Hari dear, how did you get that couch onboard? I'm quite sure I remember asking Spock to deliver that to you – on Earth." At Harriet's 'who, me?' expression, she merely shook her head and made to greet the elder across from her. Before she could reach him however, she stopped again.

"Hari, is that your cat? The one you've purposely left in Spock's apartment several times?" At Harriet's honest look of confusion, she pointed to a spot between the cushions on the floor. She couldn't quite see what Amanda was pointing to, so she bent down to get a better look… only to find a very real Smaug the Terrible lounging on a fluffy gold pillow as if he were sitting upon a throne in a castle only he could see. Harriet drooped and shook her head before getting back up.

"Well, animals can be very therapeutic," she stated unconvincingly.

Amanda briefly had a slightly worried look but blinked it away before turning back to the elder. "Sarek, husband, it is good to see you." Cue finger touching. "What do you think of Hari's office?"

Wait, husband?

Had she just met the family?

O dear.

Well, at least she now knew the elder's name, right?

* * *

On the topic of meeting the family, Harriet still had a bone (ha!) to pick with Bones. It wasn't entirely his fault impossible time travel was apparently a thing in this universe, dimension, whatever. No, it wasn't his fault. However, it _was_ his fault -definitely, largely, partially, kind of, maybe - she was annoyed. Afterall, it was he who smuggled Kirk on board.

And it had been Kirk who had made to threaten her – multiple times in multiple ways.

In the end, however, Kirk was effectively a child. An adult child but one that was in the very real process of possibly losing the closest person to a parental figure he had. But that didn't excuse his behavior. In fact, in light of his entirely inappropriate promotion to Second Officer, and subsequent temporary promotion to First while Cristians remained confined and unconscious in a biobed, his lack of comportment was more than sufficient means for disciplinary action. That he sought to disobey a direct order, one that was lawful and within the captain's right to issue, when he was effectively a stow away, was grounds for a court martial all its own. His abysmal attempt at mutiny and subsequent resistance to being detained only improved his chances of losing that court martial.

Further, his behavior had done nothing to increase or even maintain the moral of the crew; united leadership was essential. If he had something so contentious to say or argue, it should have been done privately, not on the bridge for the crew to witness. Now there would be rumors to fight as well as low moral; the last thing the _Enterprise_ and its crew needed to add to their plate.

Harriet shook her head as she quietly made her way back to medical. The Room of Rest, as she mentally thought of the space she'd created, could easily handle Amanda and Sarek and the conversation she was sure they needed to have. Perhaps, after they were done, the elder would grant his blessing to the space and endorse the endeavor to see it used for healing purposes.

In the meantime, she would seek out Bones and, rather counter-intuitively, help him deal with the loss of his friend and any guilt he may feel for his perceived role in it. She would do it in spite of her annoyance and general dislike of Kirk.

Really, the only reason she was still annoyed with Bones was due to the fact she considered him - just possibly, maybe, kind of, not really, sorta - family. The only reason she knew that? She hadn't been able to default into a strictly professional, emotion free relationship with him after the fiasco on the bridge. The very fact she couldn't default to either war general mode or general apathy regarding his person and his actions made that readily apparent to her analytical mind; still running roughshod over her emotions.

'Emotions! Really,' she mentally huffed, 'this is hardly the time! Behave!'

No, it was the time for pranks! Pranks were as cathartic as crying and meditating, so why not?

*nodnod*

This happened to be part of the reason why she was carrying Smaug. What better way to prank someone than to show up with an animal that very well shouldn't be anywhere on board? That she could truthfully say she hadn't brought on board? Of course, if anyone asked, she'd tell them the same thing she told Amanda: animals were therapeutic. If the presence of Smaug could help calm any amongst the crew or refugees, then she considered it worth the hassle of having Smaug _the Terrible_ around.

But dropping Smaug into the hands of Bones, and his reaction, weren't really going to be enough to settle her annoyance with him. She'd have to do something else, something more exacting …and she'd have to get Nurse Chapel in on it. Merlin _knew_ that woman needed both an award for putting up with Bones and a good laugh.

And Amanda – Amanda needed some fun too. She knew for a fact that Amanda was still struggling to reconcile the fact she was still alive and millions of others were not. She was also simultaneously coping with the loss of her adopted home as the Vulcans politely implied, by implication if not by spoken word, she did not feel the loss a deeply as they did. While physiologically speaking that was true, it was a logical fallacy to say that truth carried over psychologically.

… Did Bones have a dating profile? If not… well, she could fix that for him…

So, half-baked plan in hand, she detoured from her walk to central medical.

* * *

Space on the _Enterprise_ was limited given the number of refugees she had taken in. Still, when a request was put out for those willing to share their living space with survivors, every member of the crew promptly volunteered. In fact, where possible, healthy crew members had moved in with friends and turned their private quarters over to dazed Vulcans. While it was clear to everyone that the Vulcans were handling the tragedy far better than would a comparable group of humans, there were still far too many cases of mind-shock.

As such, Amanda was far too grateful of the private quarters she and her husband enjoyed as they struggled to come to terms with their new reality to care how "basic" or "small" they were. She was even in a form of dazed awe she had the luxury of a small sitting room to enjoy. Of course, there wasn't much for her to enjoy at the moment.

Nonetheless, the small space was a breath of fresh air, much as the small space Harriet had created promised to be. She didn't know where or how the young woman had acquired the decorations or had time to set up the space in so short a period of time but she knew her insight, generosity, and strangely effective teas had already left their mark on her fellow refugees.

She wondered if she could work her magic in her sitting room…

And really, she felt it _was_ magic, for nothing short of magic could have accomplished so much in so short a time.

Including the not so small act of somehow transporting her from Vulcan to the _Enterprise_ without the use of a transporter.

Dear heavens, the very _idea_ that Harriet could _teleport_ was disorienting.

She would have to address the issue with Harriet. Soon. She needed to know. She needed to properly thank her. She needed to –

"Amanda," Harriet's voice suddenly asked, "do you have a moment?"

Well then. This was a surprise. A not entirely unpleasant surprise, punctuated by her wonder at Harriet's ability to simply walk in to her quarters, but a surprise that caught her flatfooted all the same.

"Yes, of course." Wherever had she gotten that carafe from though? In addition to that satchel she always wore, she seemed to be carrying one around with her wherever she went now. Combined with whatever she was wearing under her 'uniform,' it made her look somehow like a cross between one of those old Earth field medics and an especially prepared waitress – who wasn't wearing earrings of any sort today. Strange.

"Wonderful. Tea?" she asked with a sincere smile. It was rather disconcerting given she knew full well Harriet had a mild obsession with coffee.

"Yes, thank you." She would address the matter later. Perhaps she simply hadn't had the time to stop by a replicator or was still a bit too tired from whatever she had done to rescue her? "Why don't you take a seat dear."

"This is going to seem completely random, but I have a few questions." Nothing Hari said was _completely random_. Strange on occasion, but never random. Amanda politely hid her skepticism and amusement behind the small cup of tea Hari poured for her.

'Lovely,' she thought, 'she really does have an excellent taste for tea for someone with a close to severe coffee addiction.' Okay, maybe she should bring it up sooner rather than later.

"First, what are some good 'get to know you' questions?" Well this certainly wasn't what she had been expecting.

"Depends on the purpose and occasion," she settled on, truly quite curious as to where this conversation was headed.

"Well, I'm looking for a distraction and Bones is unattached. Naturally, a single man of his caliber, in possession of such graces, _must_ be in want of a wife."

Amanda smiled, understanding the reference for what it was. "Now is hardly the time for him to be considering such things," she suggested with a smile. Oh, this had _potential_.

"That's why he has us!" Harriett nodded and lightly tapped a fist into her open palm for emphasis.

Amanda couldn't help the laughter that escaped. _Her_ – a match making mama! Well, if Harriet wanted to play, so be it. She had _no_ qualms using all of her hard won diplomatic skills to guide this to a most desirable end.

"It's always best to start off with simpler questions; questions that can establish some sort of connection. Any provided answers should do the same." Harriet nodded again, clearly focused on taking the information in. "For example, what is the last book you read and did you enjoy it?"

Then she waited for Harriet to catch on to the fact she wanted an actual answer. After a moment, a confused response came.

"Do you, do you want me to answer?" she asked, furrowing her brow and leaning slightly back on her chair.

"What better way to practice?" she asked. "Then perhaps after you've discovered a few that you like and work well for you, we can get answers out of Bones." Oh, this was truly the breath of fresh air she'd needed! If only Spock were here! …or did he already know the answers to these sorts of questions? Hmmm. They had known each other for some time now … and all those small get-togethers they had…

Amanda smiled a bit too widely into her cup. She quite knew now wasn't the proper time, but, as a mother, that didn't mean she couldn't take advantage of an opportunity presented.

* * *

Harriet was not entirely oblivious to what Amanda was up to. Still, she'd let it play out and allow the woman the distraction she needed. In the meantime, she had a Smaug to relocate. It turns out he was a little too popular for his taste amongst the younger Vulcan children on board and had taken to hiding in Bones' office. A pity really – it was doing the children a world of good to have their own cuddly distraction. The problem was just that Smaug wasn't exactly the cuddly type.

He really had a bad case of Angry Cat at the moment.

'Why don't I have a camera!' she lamented. He was just so cute when he got into one of his moods!

Alas, there were other, more important things for her to consider at the moment. Like her patients – who likely thought she was some sort of Barista from Hell at this point. She didn't really think that particular title/ rumor was deserved. Yes, her remedies could be particularly foul tasting but they were effective. In fact, they were so effective Bones had sent a few of his staff to her newly dubbed Relaxation Corner with express orders to ask for something for stress relief.

Of course, she didn't just give out calming draught willy nilly. No, the runic array she'd finished etching onto the door saw to it that only those truly seeking, and in need of, mental rest could find her door. A notice-me-not spell could certainly have done the trick. Yet magic, while a most wonderful thing, simply wasn't meant to be combined directly with technology. It was too primal, too naturally chaotic to fit the constraints that transmitters and transformers and ducting imposed. It needed a buffer of some sort and runes provided that buffer. In the simplest terms, she had discovered over time that runic arrays could be employed to direct and contain the flow of magic simply by giving it a purpose and subjecting it to her will. It was the sort of mastery one did not truly appreciate until your very ability to breathe was dependent upon the very technology your magic essentially thought was unnatural.

She had no desire for the life support systems to fail thankyouverymuch!

"Bones~" she sing-songed. "I'm here for Smaug. Where'd he get to?"

"What the hell kinda name is Smaug?"

"A very apt one," she deadpanned. "All he needs to make him a true calamity are a few fire glands and a distaste for dwarves."

Bones stared at her. "Right," he said after a moment. "He's somewhere under one of the consoles."

Harriet pouted. "I thought you'd already found and contained him."

"I did. The little piece of hell decided to un-contain himself. I want him out of my office."

"Why? He looks quite comfortable."

"If you've already found him, take him. Last thing I want is cat hair all over the place."

"Meh, it's not that bad. He surprisingly sheds very little. I have a more important issue to discuss with you." Bones tensed, likely suspecting she was eventually going to have a very serious, very opinionated, and rather passionate conversation with him about Kirk. And she was, but she'd get around to that at a more appropriate time. For now: "what's your favorite color?"

* * *

For his part, Spock took a moment to review the last hour and twenty-three point three minutes since they'd dropped from warp into the Vulcan system. Head slightly bowed in thought, he considered both Harriet's _and_ his former acting First Officer's input as he once more took a seat in the captain's chair. Twenty-three point four seconds later, and thirty-five minutes and 43 seconds after the incident on the bridge, he made a decision and locked eyes with Helmsmen Sulu.

"Mister Sulu, plot a course for the Sol system, warp factor three."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Meet the Family (fill for Pygmy Hippo); Smuggling Smaug (partial fill for Pygmy Hippo); Hari is "surprisingly" adept at helping mentally distressed telepaths (partial fill for Jane Doe Re Me); The Dating Game (get a move on!); A prankster barista from hades! (inspired by jostanos, partial fill)


	32. Resilience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit this is more a companion piece than a stand alone chapter. However, it needed to be written. Also, warning? Implied torture.

"James T. Kirk?"

"Excuse me?" he responded, confused.

"How did you _find_ me?" The Vulcan stared back at him, dark eyes searching. "Does Starfleet know of my presence?"

"How do you know my name?" he countered.

"I have been, and always shall be, your friend," what appeared to be an _elderly_ Vulcan stated.

"Wha... oh, look... sorry, I don't know you." He was in no mood to deal with Vulcans at the –

"I am Spock."

"Bullshit."

* * *

Under the circumstances, and in the presence of a good deal more illumination, Pike might have found his watery surroundings pleasant. As it was, the straps that held him in place atop the semi submerged platform contributed to a general sense of ill-being. The dark, hooded being quietly looking down at him from a suspended state he'd realized no one seemed to be acknowledging also happened to … unnerve him. In fact, his captor merely watched attentively as his crew moved to further secure Pike with a determined efficiency he had decided was a product of fanaticism and not fear.

Nero approached only when they had finished their work and spent a moment staring down at him. Tightly bound, Pike did his best to fill his mind with Mozart, though he wasn't sure the anti-interrogation technique would be sufficient to save him from whatever was coming.

Expecting a blow, contemptuous spittle, or at least a tongue-lashing, he was surprised by Nero's almost apologetic tone. Surprised enough to briefly forget the unshifting, cloaked _being_ that was mirroring his position in the air above him.

"Captain Christopher Pike. An honor. Truly. I regret that the circumstances must be as they are."

"Likewise." He refocused determinedly on the dark being as he played back the second to last movement of the _Jupiter Symphony_ in his head. "Romulan." Did it have eyes under that unnaturally suspended hood?

Nero sighed. "Centuries ago, before the Vulcan High Council decided to reveal themselves to the people of Earth in order to inform them that they were not alone in the universe, and to invite them into the Federation, we would occasionally observe your species from a distance." He paused. "You are a more noble race than our deplorable fallen cousins."

He couldn't help the snort that left him. "If that's an attempt to drive a wedge between us, it's a pretty feeble one."

Nero smiled. "An understandable presumption on your part but such was not my intent. I speak truly when I say that I feel that humankind is a more decent species than the Vulcans – the great majority of whom are now, thankfully, no more. Humans can feel, can suffer, can be aware of their surroundings on the level the forever 'logical' Vulcans cannot. In this, you are closer to my kind than to them.

"You'll excuse me," Pike muttered, "if I don't feel any special kinship at the moment." He was actually torn somewhere between terrified and mystified. Could they even see their guest?

Could they see Death staring him directly in the face?

Nero stiffened slightly. "I'll take no pleasure in humanity's extinction."

"Your attempts to draw a link between our different species are growing progressively more feeble. Pardon me if I don't feel reassured."

Of course, at that point, he was rather certain even a priest wouldn't have been able to reassure him.

"It's not your fault," Nero went on, "that Starfleet chose Earth for it's headquarters and the Federation for its center, nor do I chastise you for your allegiance to your own. I find both it and you admirable. But despite this there is something I require from you and will obtain by whatever means necessary in spite of my avowed admiration."

Nero's tone darkened. Pike barely registered the change, staring into the depths as he was.

"You must have so many questions for me. I have only one for you. I need the Subspace frequencies that alert Starfleet to hostile intrusion. Specifically those surrounding Earth."

Pike's voice grew faint and his expression distant. "It- it's strange, but I - I feel myself... Not remembering," he concluded with a strange smile, gaze reconnecting with his captor's eyes. As terrified as he was, Nero didn't need to know it. "Recent events must have affected my memory. I'm afraid the information you're asking for has completely and permanently fled my mind."

Stepping back, Nero gestured. Two crew members who had been standing in the shadows, out of his line of sight, advanced toward the platform and its pool. One of them was carrying a container; his companion, instruments. Pike tried not to look in their direction. Since he was also trying not to look up, he forced himself to maintain eye contact with Nero.

"Ambushing your opponent isn't very noble," he told Nero accusingly.

"True." The Romulan nodded in agreement. "In this case it's an act of Mercy. I give you one last chance to recall the information I require." He smiled thinly. "I strongly suggest you look hard into your 'deteriorating' memory."

Pike turned away, resigning himself. "Christopher Pike, Captain, _U.S.S. Enterprise_. Registration NCC-1701."

Nero's tone hardened. "Christopher. Answer my question."

"No. _You_ answer for the genocide who just committed on a peaceful Planet."

" _I prevented genocide!"_

* * *

"It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend. Especially after the events of today."

"Uh, sir I appreciate what you did for me today, but, but if you were Spock you would know we're not friends at all," this younger version of his friend stated. "You hate me, you marooned me here for mutiny."

"Mutiny?" Truly? Whatever had Jim done this time?

"Yes."

"You are not the Captain?"

"No, no. Umm... you're the Captain. Pike was taken hostage."

"By Nero."

"What do you know about him?"

"He is a particularly troubled Romulan." He reached forward, hand out. "Please, allow me. It will be easier."

"Whoah, whoah! What are you doin'?"

"Our minds. One and together."

* * *

"Christopher, I chose a life of honest labor to provide for myself – and the wife who was carrying my child. I sit here now, knowing you as an enemy. Not just of today, but of tomorrow. I watched helplessly as your _Federation_ ," he spat the word, "did nothing. They let us die, to the last man, woman, and child."

Pike suddenly found himself more confused than fearful, momentarily forgetting the visage, or lack thereof, that looked down upon him. "Then you're mistaken. Romulus has not been destroyed. How can you blame the Federation for something that hasn't happened?"

"It _did_ happen! I remember it. I – felt it. When I lost her, I promised myself I would not speak another word until the day of my retribution. In twenty-five years, I forgot the sound of my own voice. But I didn't forget the pain. That feeling cannot be erased." Unrepentant anger crept back into his voice. "A feeling that every surviving Vulcan now shares."

"If what you say is true," Pike hurried on, "you can save Romulus. You have a second chance to – "

"Yes," Nero overrode him. "Which is a gift I won't waste on mercy. My purpose, Christopher, is not simply to avoid the destruction of the home I love, but to create a Romulus that can exist free of the Federation. Only then can her future be assured."

Pike turned away and half closed his eyes, looking up in spite of himself. "Then we have nothing more to discuss."

The commander of the _Narada_ sighed. "As you wish."

* * *

Spock ended the mind meld and withdrew his hand, leaving Kirk sweaty and crying.

"Forgive me. Emotional transference is an effect of the mind meld."

"So you do feel?"

"Yes," he said simply. "We must go. There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here."

"Wait. Where you came from, did I know my father?"

"Yes. You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become Captain of the Enterprise."

"Captain?"

"A ship we must return you to as soon as possible."

* * *

As he looked up, Pike couldn't help but feel as if he were looking firmly into the eyes of Death itself, for he was certain to his very core that was who mirrored him. It stared back at him, suspended in a grand and eerie manner, its cowl moved by a gentle wind that he could not feel brushing against his exposed flesh. Its tattered robes, dark as the deep space he loved so dearly, rippling without defining a true shape, were enticing.

He briefly considered whether the first strains of The Last Journey or Dylan Thomas were more appropriate for the situation he found himself in.

A brace of attending crew moved forward to close in around him and he decided neither was quite appropriate. He would not wait for the train in the station for he still had a duty to his crew and the people of Earth; he still had fight coursing through his veins. So he would not go gently into that good night, but he would not resign himself to this being's company.

That is not to say he would refuse the company however. The company, he knew, would help him endure the torture he knew was to come.

One handed, Nero handled a pair of gleaming metal tongs, reserving the other hand for a sealed box. "Given the determination you have displayed thus far," he stated after a time, "it is, while time-wasting as well as disappointing, no less than I expected of you. I regret the discomfort that is to come.

"The frequencies, please."

"Christopher Pike, Captain, _U.S.S. Enterprise_. Registration NCC-1701," he recited, his mind only partially rooted in his surroundings.

"As you wish," Nero announced, in a manner similar to one who was resigned to engaging in a distasteful but necessary act.

As he opened the box and revealed its contents, Pike forced himself to focus in on the portion of Death's robes that indicated a head, imagining It's eyes to be as strong and mesmerizing as a dying star, drawing all within Its view.

'Rilke,' he decided as the creature that was taken from the box was placed on his belly and his fate explained. He quietly began to recite the poem in his head, over and over, allowing the unfathomable depths of the empty cowl that looked down upon him to draw him further away from the pain that was beginning to descend upon him.

'Before us Death stands, Our fate held close within his quiet hands…'

* * *

"You're coming with us, right?"

"No, Jim. That is not my destiny."

"Your dest... He... the other Spock is not going to believe me. Only you can explain what's gonna happen."

"Under no circumstances, can he be aware of my existence. You must promise me this."

"You're telling me I can't tell you that I'm following your own orders. Why not? What happens?"

"Jim, this is one rule you cannot break. To stop Nero, you alone must take command of your ship."

"How? Over your dead body?"

"Preferably not. However, there is Starfleet regulation six-one-nine. Six-one-nine states that any commanding officer who's emotionally compromised by the mission at hand, must resign said command."

"Yea, I've tried that angle."

"You have?"

"That's how I ended up here. What about Harriet? You seem to listen to her."

"…Who is Harriet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the spaces in-between; seen, not heard


	33. Infinite Possibilities

The sound of the door sliding open brought Spock out of his contemplation. His eyes were greeted with the sight of Harriet standing just within the door to the ready room, still dressed in a modified version of her self-prescribed uniform. While the basics of the tan tunic and darker brown trousers had not changed, the addition of the heavy, dark leather beneath was an interesting choice. The trousers also seemed heavier, as if they were either made of a thicker material or covering another layer of cloth. Her customary boots also did not seem altered in any way, but they had always seemed to be closer to the combat side than the fashionable… if he understood Terran female fashions regarding footwear properly.

The medical pack she had slung across her shoulders was a sound choice given the current situation and state of the crew but the contents of the compartments on the utility belt she had secured her satchel to was a mystery, and thus a curious choice to his curious mind.

"You asked for me Spock?" she asked, interrupting his inspection.

"Yes." He gestured and she walked over to one of the seats in front of Captain Pike's desk. She took a seat and he could not help but notice the few cuts still marring her face, the slight disarray of her curls, pulled back into a utilitarian series of Vulcan braids, and the slight tiredness that still seemed to cling to her; proof she was not as recovered as he had accused her of being. Still, there were things that needed to be discussed. "Harriet, I can no longer delay our conversation."

Harriet raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

He determined that she had sufficient grounds for asking. There were many things they had yet to discuss and several of their non-academic topics also needed to be addressed 'sooner rather than later' as he believed the phrase went.

"I am currently in a position where I must ask the extent of your capabilities. I will not go so far as to request that you share any true secrets you believe knowledge of which would do irreparable harm. However, I do need to know what assets you can bring to our upcoming confrontation with Nero."

"And what shall you do with that information?" she asked in a neutral tone. He could not help but be grateful and hopeful they could at the very least have this conversation as professionals.

"That would depend on the nature of the skills and abilities you present," he offered. As he had told her previously, he was bound to a certain extent by his oath of office and his commitment to Starfleet.

"Not good enough," she decided. Her nose, for lack of a better word, then wiggled. He found it strangely appealing. "Is that coffee I smell?"

He chose to ignore her olfactory observation in favor of properly understanding the defect to the proposed exchange. In truth, he understood more and more of her position as each week of their association came and went. Still, he did not fully comprehend the extent of her concern, nor the fear he suspected sustained that concern.

"I do not understand the failing behind my response," he responded.

"I understand the merits of both the question and the situation Spock; your situation, our situation, the crew's situation. That does not mean I will freely give detailed information that will make its way into Starfleet hands and databases and thereby set myself up to be subjected to their whims and mercies at their leisure."

His lips turned down just slightly enough for him to notice the action. Leisure?

"While that is not my intention, I can see the logic behind your concern." He could, as clearly as he could see the failings of his staunch belief Starfleet would stand by the spirit of the Prime Directive when faced with Starfleet's actions toward Hari thus far. "I assure you this shall not result in a repeat of the incident that occurred shortly after our initial meeting." He would not allow another such incident to occur.

"I take it you are prepared with a compromise?"

"Indeed, one that should suitably address both of our concerns." With definable limits, there was no reason for her to outright refuse his modified request. "You stated your – 'jumping' – ability was a skill derived from the study and cross application of several disciplines. I propose that we discuss the nature of the disciplines you believe to be relevant to our continued survival and success, or that you have already made use of to contribute to our continued survival and success."

He was more than intelligent enough to have made the connections between the marks etched into his station and the captain's chair and knew with certainty they were essential to understanding how both had remained relatively undamaged in spite of the damage the ship had taken overall.

Harriet's eyes drew into a 'squint.' "That does not properly address the issue of Starfleet." True.

In response, he quietly passed her the cup of coffee he had acquired for her ... and had been purposely keeping from her on a side table just out of her view.

"Blast you, but you're good," she mumbled, accepting the cup.

She settled more thoroughly into her chair and made a noise he associated with her enjoyment of her beverage of choice, her eyes fluttering shut. He could wait. He did not have unlimited time, but as Captain, he had a duty to ship and crew to properly take inventory of the resources he had at hand, particularly when they were currently limited. He could, and would, wait a reasonable time if it meant properly addressing the needs of the many.

Her eyes re-opened and narrowed in on his face.

"And if we were to have this discussion as one friend with another instead?"

His brow furrowed. He was not entirely certain of the ramifications of placing that additional parameter on their discussion. Would it limit his ability to act on the information that she provided him? No. Something was telling him…

"Can you affirm my presumption of your interest in the health and safety of the crew as a matter of fact?"

"Of course!" she said with some modicum of … irritation.

Was it time perhaps to produce the small container of powdered chocolate he had also procured?

Yes.

She eyed the container before releasing one hand from the cup and taking it up for closer inspection. Upon taking a slight sniff, she laughed – a light but full sound that a part of him noted as also being appealing.

"Thank you but no. It quite hits the spot black." Returning the container to the desk, she settled back into the chair, slightly more relaxed, going back to grasping the nondescript cup of coffee with both hands.

Success.

"Then, as a matter of academic interest discussed between friends, what are the fields of study unique to your culture that would be relevant to discuss?" The nature of their 'friendship' was a topic that still went unaddressed, understandable given how events were unfolding, but he could not deny it was the basis for their relationship as it stood at present.

"Well. Apparition and Potions certainly." She paused and he gave her time to think. "I also happen to be making use of my knowledge of Runes and Warding at the moment as well. I highly doubt transfiguration would be a useful topic to discuss as active use of that particular skill may actually endanger the crew…" She looked toward the ceiling, a sign she was deep in thought. "Well, if I go through the standard subjects…well, maybe… perhaps … no, definitely useless here. So those four primarily." And the danger to the crew?

"I can deduct a certain measure of the purpose behind three of the four you have suggested. However, I would not dismiss the opportunity for greater clarity."

She smiled at him. "Of course not. Ok. Well, apparition is a form of transportation that allows an individual to transport themselves from one location to another almost instantly. It requires complete concentration on the destination, determination, focus upon the desired location, deliberation, and certainty of reaching the goal. It's not instant, and you're still crossing the intervening space, just… faster."

Were there limits? Was she truly constrained by them? Was danger and success relative to the span crossed or was the primary variable the ability to focus with clarity of sight and function? Could the skill be learned or was it innate?

"Potions is a field similar to the study of chemistry; the study of individual ingredients and how they interact to create a, typically, liquid result designed for a specific purpose – such as the repair of bones or inducing calm."

Ah. The mixture she had given him then fell into this category. She was also likely using them in her teas. How was it 'similar' to chemistry without involving chemistry? Was this in line with her emphasis on the lack of a _mathematical_ basis for time travel? Was there an opportunity to translate her remedies into formulas that would advance the medical field beyond its current boundaries?

"Runes are symbols representing various sound values, belonging to a runic alphabet. The runes themselves can be used both as an alphabet or as stand-in for whole words, as logograms. It is the basis for completing and understanding a number of other branches of advanced study, such as Warding. Warding is … the study of a particular form of protection."

"And how are you using them on board the vessel?" How was she combining these two fields to protect his station? His ship?

"As they are intended." Knowing her as he did, he knew he would get no more from her on the topic based on the set of her mouth. He could accept that, as he could extrapolate the fundamental principles of each field, their uses, their shortcomings, and their potential to be used both defensively and offensively. However –

"Under which discipline is time studied?"

"Time?" She frowned in thought. "I believe it depends on which aspect of time you wished to study really; there are several…"

Several?

He waited as she finished drinking her coffee.

"Actually, Arithmancy. I almost completely forgot about Arithmancy." She 'worried' her lip. "It is … the study of the properties of numbers, including the use of numbers and numerology to predict the future. It's actually not terribly inaccurate at predicting outcomes when parameters are appropriately and correctly chosen, then input…"

"Keptain," came Checkov's voice over the comm, "we're detecting unauthorized access to to one of the auxiliary cooling tank control boards."

He activated the screen on the desk.

"Security, seal the engineering deck. We have intruders in turbine section three. Set phasers to stun."

* * *

Bones, waiting on the bridge to report to Spock, was surprised when three security personnel entered, one leading and two following Jim of all people and a second crew member, phasers trained on both.

'What the hell?'

"Surprise," Jim said, his eyes meeting the gaze of the Vulcan leaving the ready room without flinching.

Spock, to McCoy's surprise, ignored Jim and eyed his companion instead. Both men were soaked, but, unlike Jim, the second man wasn't wearing standard issue as far as Bones could tell. Instead, he was dressed for cold weather, in a heavy brown winter jacket accompanied by thick gloves and a scarf.

'Someone assigned to Delta Vega then. How'd the hell'd they get on board the ship?'

"Who are you?"

Well Spock was in a mood then.

"I'm with him," the other man answered.

Bones began to mentally sigh. 'Now was _not_ the time…'

"He's with me," Jim quickly seconded, confident.

' _Jim_ ,' he mentally growled, sigh completely forgotten.

He was happy to see him alive, sure, but he highly doubted now was the time for _another_ public confrontation. Likewise, the tension on the bridge was due as much to the awkward relationship between acting captain and Jim as to the far greater danger that threatened them all. Clearly, the newcomer wasn't aware of that bit, if he was aware of the danger they were in to begin with…

"We're traveling at warp speed. How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?" Spock asked pointedly, looking directly at the newcomer.

"You're the genius, you figure it out," was Jim's baiting response.

'Damnit Jim!' Spock was NOT known for being a paragon of patience –

Yet, instead of snapping back, Spock just stared at Jim for an inscrutable second, then turned back to the other man beside him.

… what? Well, that wasn't quite right…

"As Acting Captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question."

Jim stepped in front of the still unidentified man before he could answer. "He's not telling, Acting Captain. What, that doesn't frustrate you, does it? Our lack of cooperation? That doesn't make you angry?"

Spock, in spite of the mood Bones could tell he was clearly in, still managed to _ignore_ Jim by maintaining eye contact with the other man. What was going on?

"Are you a member of Starfleet?" Spock continued; Jim's height not entirely sufficient to prevent him from maintaining eye contact with the interloper.

"I … um … yes. Can I get a towel, please?" came the uncertain reply.

Spock _pressed_.

"Under penalty of court martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship while moving at warp."

"Well…"

"Don't answer him," Jim interjected firmly. Things were devolving quickly and, honestly, Bones was too caught between his exasperation with Jim and Spock's outright _odd_ behavior.

"You will answer me," Spock reiterated.

Spock was very clearly angry – recent events and months of having to tangentially deal with the Vulcan via Hari had given him some insight on how to recognize his … _emotions_ such as they were. As such, he also knew perfectly well Vulcans weren't _emotionless_ , yet Spock wasn't conveying any of the anger or distress that the other Vulcan refugees were displaying.

"I'd rather not take sides, if ya dinna mind."

"Then I will make the decision for you," Spock stated firmly. "Security."

Bones was suddenly hit with a realization that Spock was not only Vulcan but also a friend of Harriet, a woman who wouldn't let anyone she was looking after suffer more than could be helped. Was Spock now one of her patients? Had she dosed him?

"What is it with you, Spock? Hmm? Your planet was just destroyed and you're not even upset?" Jim said incredulously. _Accusingly_.

' _DAMNIT JIM_!' Not. The. Time! Especially, if Spock was only on a single dose of Calming Draught. Damn stuff was effective, subtly so, and decently long lasting but that was no guarantee all the stress and trauma wouldn't still break through!

Spock locked eyes with Jim as Bones less than discretely edged his way over to the center of the conflict, ready to intervene.

"And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command," Jim continued. "Did you see his ship? Do you see what he did?"

"Yes, of course I did." Was that _emotion_ in Spock's _voice_? Lord above… "What is your purpose?"

"So are you afraid or aren't you?" Jim continued belligerently.

Spock's reply was swift and sure, all trace of emotion gone from his voice: "My ability to command this ship is not impeded. Your ability to reason apparently is."

" _My_ ability – You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you!" Jim nearly shouted as he got dangerously close to Spock's person.

"I am Vulcan. I feel deeply." Wait – he admitted to that?! "Currently I feel you are mentally impaired by your distress over the Captain's current position."

Bones, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the entire situation, couldn't find it in him to deny the truth behind Spock's words.

He also couldn't help the slight horror he felt rising in him: was he bristling on behalf of Jim… or _Spock_?

"I'll take responsibility of him Captain," he quickly interjected, distracting both himself and them by jerking Jim back near violently as he said it; he knew full well Spock's words would have struck Jim hard. Spock's sharp eyes met his and, in the same even tone he used when he discussed Harriet's health with the Vulcan, Bones continued. "If his mental health is the concern, medical is a better place for him."

He was starting to wonder after _his_ mental health.

Jim opened his mouth to speak and McCoy pinched the radial nerve of the arm he was holding hard, then twisted. Jim closed his mouth and grit his teeth in pain.

Now was _NOT_ the time for anymore of his antics. Calming Draught or no Calming Draught, this had gone on long enough.

After an intense few seconds that seemed to stretch much longer, Spock gave a very Harriet like nod before turning back to the yet unnamed … officer? The moment Spock's eyes were off of them, Bones was moving, leading Jim away with a tight grip.

"You have one more opportunity: how did you get aboard this ship?" Spock demanded firmly behind him.

Jim broke his grip, jaw working, just enough to indicate he planned on engaging Spock once more. Bones reacted quickly but Jim was faster and they both knew it. Yet, just before he could properly get out of reach, and with a swiftness and force he didn't recognize as his own, Jim was right back within his grasp and moving that much more compliantly for the shock of it.

Bones didn't have the luxury of contemplating it too deeply and focused on dragging an oddly silent Jim toward the turbo lift.

… where Harriet, arms crossed, stood with a very Spock like eyebrow raised at him, judging him with the full force of her very annoyed person. He ignored her (and her flared nose) and focused on his self-appointed task of getting Jim some place Spock would forget him.

… How much Draught was in Spock's system? When had Harriet given it to him? Did this mean their acting captain was _impaired_ or … _under the influence_ while on duty?

…Why was he doing this to himself?

* * *

When they were further down the relatively undamaged corridor, McCoy relaxed his death grip on Jim's arm. "Don't make me regret this more than I already do. I mean it," he gruffed. "Now, what's going on Jim? What were you playing at in there?"

Instead of answering him, Jim took their conversation in an entirely different direction. "Bones, there's something off with her."

'What?'

At his look of confusion, Jim clarified. "The Special Envoy, Hari."

"Of course there is: it's Harriet," he said as if it explained everything. And really, it did. "Don't change the subject. What the hell are you up to? What possessed you to try sneaking on board a ship you were legally thrown off?"

"I want to know who she is," Jim insisted. "I want to know how she knew about the attack. What was she doing on the bridge?"

"Do me a favor: don't ask her. If you weren't so determined to pick a fight with him, I'd say ask Spock but clearly – "

"What do you mean ask _Spock_?" Jim interjected.

"They're friends." Under his breath, he added, "Lord knows how or why."

"Friends?" Both his tone and body language clearly conveyed his incredulity. "You can't be serious."

Given how well the two got on, it was no wonder Jim didn't believe him. Still, the truth was the truth.

"Unfortunately, I am. I'm also serious about not asking her. She already doesn't like you."

"What'd I do?"

"Amongst everything else? You cheated," he reminded Jim.

"That test was rigged – "

He stopped abruptly and turned to Jim almost violently, all but pushing him against a corridor wall by advancing particularly close to his face.

" _That's the point_ Jim! It's not about winning, it's about how you act under pressure. Harriet's the type of Healer that works with terminal or near terminal patients. In her line of work, there aren't a lot of second chances, much less opportunities to rewrite whatever scenario ended in her having or losing a patient because she didn't like it." He took a calming breath, then screwed up his face. "And contrary to popular belief, Spock has a heart. Somewhere."

He backed off. And once more pondered how the heck he'd ended up defending Spock of all people…

"Like hell he does!" Jim argued.

" _He's Vulcan_ , not dead," he hissed. "Every time Harriet's lost a patient, he's been there for her. He even meets her on short notice when she looks like she's about to cry and there's nothing I can do about it. He _cares_ , and he's just as hurt as the rest of us about the loss of his planet Jim! He's just too damn Vulcan to show it properly. _ALL_ of them are."

It wasn't his place to say anything just yet, he decided. If nothing else, as a Vulcan, he'd become Harriet's patient by default when she'd taken over care of the _distressed_ Vulcans.

"Unless, you're going to apologize to her, stay away. I mean that Jim." And he did. He wasn't nearly as conflicted about defending Hari. He was perfectly aware the woman had both her secrets and her issues but that didn't mean he didn't trust her.

"Who is she Bones?" Jim asked searchingly after a moment.

"I don't know and I don't care," he said resolutely. "I know her well enough, and for long enough, to trust her – even with my health, and you know how I feel about _that_."

Jim looked at him somewhat speechless. "There's gotta be something you can tell me. Where is she from? What are her credentials? How'd she end up on the _Enterprise_? Captain Pike wouldn't just trust anyone on his ship, much less specifically ask we 'keep track' of someone who wasn't important."

Bones started walking toward medical again, debating how much he could or should share with his friend. The truth was… he didn't know too many actual facts about Harriet's background or her deal with Starfleet. Still, he knew her enough to know she was a good person with a strong attachment to the Hippocratic Oath – even if she refused to take it – and deserved just as much privacy as the next person.

Jim followed him without prompting.

"We took classes together at the Academy," he settled for saying. "She's a certified Healer; alternative medicine. I'm loathe to admit it, but her nonsense actually produces results. Positive results."

"So she's a Special Envoy of what? The medical community?" His tone was entirely disbelieving. And something else… What was Jim driving toward? What was this obsession with Hari?

"Look Jim," he said, some of his exhaustion bleeding through. "Harriet is Harriet. She's entitled to her privacy, just like everyone else." He wasn't going to touch the topic of how she tended to speak of humanity as if it didn't include her. Or how machines REALLY didn't like it when she started fiddling with them.

He was eventually going to get that bio scan out of her though.

"I saw what she did, Bones," Jim pushed intently. "She transported without the aid of a transporter. That shouldn't be possible. Then she made it sound like transporting through time wasn't as impossible as it should be. And back there, she was looking at me as if…"

"As if what?" he said with some annoyance.

Jim just shook his head and they finished their walk in relative silence.

"Look, I'll apologize," Jim stated as they entered Medical, "if you can get her to explain what's going on. Something's just not right here."

"It's Harriet: if she says she doesn't know, she doesn't know." She was generally very upfront with her lack of knowledge or expertise.

"Has anyone asked?"

… good question…

"I don't know, and I won't be the one to do it," he answered. "Now sit over there and be quiet for five minutes. I have more important things to do than prevent you getting court martialed."

"What he's doing isn't _right_ Bones," Jim said with deep conviction, bringing the conversation _back_ to Spock. "We need to get to earth. If only you'd – "

"We're already headed toward earth," he nearly barked out. What was Jim so fixated on?

"What? Since when?" His expression became serious and he stepped in. "Did Harriet have anything to do with that decision?"

…what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "Wok Bae McCoy" – what does that even mean!?; How useful are Hogwarts classes actually?
> 
> I did actually try really hard to understand that phrase but I still don't understand it properly. That being said, I didn't know what it meant to "throw shade" either until I finally gave in and asked someone what Wok Bae meant. Thus started my re-introduction to slang...


	34. The Wisdom of Q, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm editing instead of writing! I'll be busy again for a few weeks so the next update may not happen anytime soon.
> 
> Also: THANK YOU to everyone who has left comments or kudos. I don't respond for various reasons but each notice I get makes my day and keeps me writing!

As curious as Harriet was about Jim and his fellow intruder, something that felt suspiciously like that extra sense of hers was resonating with the idea of using arithmancy to resolve their current problem … and nudging her toward a discussion with Amanda. But how did the two relate? Where was the pull taking her with this?

She would seek out Amanda first for clues. Leaving her place by the turbolift, she let the feeling guide her feet as she thought.

The niggling had begun with Spock's last question: time travel. _Impossible_ time travel because non-magical time travel simply wasn't possible – yet. Which _was_ possible due to the very science behind time travel being rooted in the debate between how linear time was or was not and the consequences of deviations from what was, at a particular moment on a particular continuum, considered truth and fact.

So it wasn't _impossible_ time travel so much as it being an act that non-magicals shouldn't have the means to accomplish. She would know; she'd spent plenty of years and realities searching for ways to just undo the acts that left her, society, or history irrevocably marked by tragedy, death, destruction, the loss of great potential, or all of the above.

Yet the possibility had always been an _impossibility_. There were plenty of theories of course. But if she hadn't known for certain magicals had in fact achieved a form of time travel, they would have remained nothing but impossible, implausible, fantastical theories.

Now however… what could Amanda _possibly_ know about this or those theories?

As her feet took her on a winding path here, then there, she reviewed and applied potential theories and outcomes to equations, factors, and variables. When she arrived – somewhere – where was she? These weren't Amanda's quarters…

The Relaxation Corner? Well then. She would certainly prefer to have this conversation in her own 'office' such as it was, since familiarity was important to gaining and maintaining Amanda's trust enough to receive forthright answers. Still, the Relaxation Corner would have far too many ears now for the sort of openness she imagined the conversation would require.

She entered nonetheless, eyes roving the room until she spotted Amanda watching a number of young Vulcan children playing some sort of mathematics based game from the couch. On quiet feet that belied exactly how heavy and sturdy her dragonhide boots were, she approached the couch and took a dainty seat.

"Amanda?" She startled slightly.

"Hari dear? Whatever brings you here?" she inquired, then gave a slight shake of her head. "Forgive me, I completely forgot this is part of your work space. Do you have a patient?"

"Oh, well, no, but do you perhaps have a moment? I had a few questions?" When Amanda looked at her expectantly, she quietly continued. "Well, I was actually hoping to ask you if you knew anything about research into the matter of time travel..."

"I see," she said, her expression thoughtful. She took a moment to consider the children, then gave Harriet a look that was all Spock. "Shall we take a walk?"

Harriet agreed and rose to follow Amanda's graceful steps out of the Relaxation Corner, leaving the curious glances of the children behind without much thought.

"Is there something in particular about it that you wish to know? Most of my knowledge is theoretical," Amanda stated as the door swiftly closed behind them.

Harriet sighed as she matched Amanda's amble. "So is mine." 'Mostly,' she conceded mentally. "Yet I have reason to believe it's quite possible." 'In the non-magical sense,' she added. She really couldn't bring herself to _lie_ to Amanda.

It was a bit troubling really.

"Who is to say that it isn't? It's a matter the Vulcan Science Academy has been studying for some time. In fact, if the research they've been publishing is anything to go by, it's entirely possible, just not probable."

"What? _How?_ " Harriet asked, startled.

"Red matter. It's quite the mystery at the moment but some of the more… fervent researchers do posit one of the potential usages of red matter to be a seeming form of time travel, if not the actual breach of the space-time continuum. Truthfully, it's not a field of research I've studied extensively as my true interest lies in applied quantum physics." For some reason that last bit surprised Harriet. It really shouldn't have ...

They walked in silence for a time and Harriet did not push.

Spock was rubbing off on her.

"There is quite a bit of hesitance around the discussion of red matter as well."

Harriet cocked her head. "Why so?"

"It can be quite destructive by nature Hari. I must insist on knowing your interest in the subject," Amanda stated firmly.

Harriet hesitated, then made a decision.

"It's not exactly a classified matter but I would prefer to have this discussion with Spock present. Perhaps a few of his other officers as well, as they were also present for the initial discussion. It also concerns the safety of the ship?"

Amanda took her arm into hers and began steering her in a slightly different direction. "If that is true, then I would suggest a more private location for our discussion."

Harriet only nodded before she comm'd Spock to inform him that they were headed toward the Captain's Ready Room, informing him only that she had acquired additional information.

As they walked toward their new destination, Harriet's mind whirled, equation after equation, variable upon variable presenting itself. There were too many unknowns!

"Amanda… what are the proposed properties of red matter that make it of interest to the Science Academy?"

They could discuss the implications of time travel paired with the destructive capabilities of red matter and the death of Vulcan later.

Preferably much later.

... maybe it was best if Amanda didn't sit in on the upcoming discussion...

* * *

Harriet was surprised to find Spock not waiting in the ready room but sitting deep in thought in the captain's chair.

"Spock?" she called.

"Harriet." Curious: short and to the point. Typical Spock but odd nonetheless, given the nearly distracted manner with which he said her name. He hadn't even looked at her…

"Do you wish to have the discussion here?" she asked in Vulcan, coming to stand a proper distance from the chair.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Uhura twitch.

"Now is the time for transparency. The battlefield is not the place for the crew to have reason to question the competency or the honesty of the commanding officer," he responded in the same language.

"I shall respect your decision within reason then." She switched back to Standard. "I wish to discuss the issue of time travel," she declared loud enough for the other officers on the bridge to hear. "The variables inherent to the theories Mrs. Grayson has been explaining to me, when input into various equations, suggest our enemy is not only a time traveler in fact but also one in possession of a device that facilitates their ability to travel at will."

Spock furrowed a brow but said nothing. Instead, it was Uhura who asked the first question.

"What kind of device would be capable of time travel?"

"One that could actually divide reality," she replied succinctly. She firmly believed that when dealing with both the overly complicated and "muggles," it was best to be as simple and straight forward as possible.

Within reason, of course.

"Meaning what?" Uhura asked in very short tone. Clearly, she didn't appreciate Hari's approach.

"Meaning this reality and the reality that Nero has experienced are entirely different." Hadn't they already discussed this? Surely, it hadn't been that long.

"We already discussed this," Uhura pointed out shortly, unknowingly echoing Harriet's thoughts.

Harriet furrowed an eyebrow in brief confusion before she realized what the other woman was missing. Really, she can't expect everyone to be in on everything. "Yes, but now I've confirmed it." She turned to address Spock, who _had_ understood the point of her making an otherwise redundant statement. "I've also confirmed that something followed Nero here."

" _How_?" Sulu asked. She ignored him in favor of continuing her report, such as it was, to Spock.

"There are _two_ vessels out of place Spock. They are both currently in the same location but they were not originally. The formulae indicate that they converged. So there is someone or something out there who brought the second vessel through the opening that brought Nero to our reality."

Several faces on the bridge paled at the implications.

"You are certain of this?" Spock asked.

"As certain as I can be," she replied. "The formulae are very reliable, and my inputs were as precise as I could make them." Particularly as she was doing them while walking and talking. But she'd had more than enough _years_ to become rather proficient with the knowledge either Death or Hermione had dropped into her library.

"There are time travel formulas?" Chekov wondered aloud.

"No," she admitted to him readily enough. "But there are formulas associated with time, transportation, and dislocation. The outputs are not always as specific as one would like but they are reliable." Harriet explained, almost patiently. She really couldn't get annoyed at Chekov – who could?

A terse "McCoy to Captain Spock" came over the comm, interrupting the conversation before they could continue.

"Doctor," was the equally terse response.

"Sir, I think Kirk has some information that needs to be shared."

"The _cadet_ has spoken more than enough." Harriet was certain Uhura wasn't the only other person who registered the understated anger in Spock's voice.

She mentally sighed. 'So the draught has near completely worn off then…' All told, it hadn't lasted as long as her Vulcan specific formula and hadn't quite behaved as expected. Still, the calming draught had done its job in taking the edge off his more volatile emotions. It just hadn't been as lasting as she'd hoped given his unique physiology.

"With all due respect, _sir_ , Jim can go too far, but he's sane. And what he's saying sounds like information that could be useful, _Captain_."

Harriet interrupted before their version of a fight could start – not that Spock would start one while on duty.

Normally.

"Bones, Hari. Does this potentially useful information include the existence of a second vessel from the future?"

"How does she –," came Kirk's voice.

"Answer the question," Spock interjected.

"Without the provision of opinions," Harriet seamlessly added.

You could practically hear Kirk gritting his teeth. "Yes," was the reluctant but otherwise civil response.

"Explain," Spock commanded, head slightly tilted as he thought.

"Nero was chasing a different, older Spock. They were both sucked into a black hole. Nero arrived first," Kirk gritted out over the comm.

Harriet idly wondered how he could be using McCoy's comm… 'Focus!'

"How did older Spock's vessel end up with Nero?" Harriet asked instead, not even questioning the existence of this Older Spock – which garnered a fair few looks.

'Muggles,' inner her sighed, then blanched at the reaction.

"Nero captured him and his vessel. According to him, Nero spared his life and marooned him on Delta Vega just so he could watch the destruction of Vulcan." The fact _Kirk_ didn't question that particular set of facts either didn't seem to matter.

"Why?" Spock asked with true curiosity in his voice.

"Nero blames Vulcan and all Vulcans for the destruction in the future of Romulus. He thinks the Federation, and Vulcan in particular, as exemplified by a future mission headed by Spock, could have saved his home world. Now he doesn't trust the Federation, Vulcan, or Spock to do it in this time. So he thinks the only way to save Romulus in the future is to destroy the Federation in our present."

A localized patch of silence formed and stretched until Kirk insisted he was telling the truth. And really, she wouldn't be surprised if it was. More importantly though –

"Would this second vessel happen to be a red matter machine?" Harriett asked in the silent wake of that statement.

"How did you know that?" Kirk asked sharply.

She focused on Spock without any indication she had heard Kirk. "Mrs. Grayson had some rather interesting information about the properties of red matter that were being studied at the Vulcan Science Academy. Unfortunately, the implications of the existence of such a dangerous machine, and its capabilities, forced her to curtail our discussion."

There was another brief moment of silence before Kirk cut back in.

"If we're already headed to earth to stop Nero, why haven't we caught up to him yet?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, likely at his tone. Hari could only guess at what unflattering thoughts were going through the Vulcan's mind.

"Look, I'm trying to help!" was Jim's insistent reply.

Spock seemed to consider the merits of not answering Jim's otherwise valid question before responding. "The situation with engineering remains. We cannot reach the appropriate warp factor."

"Scotty may be able to help us there."

"I have already spoken with Lieutenant Scott. He believes there is a way for us to latch onto Nero's position. He is assessing engineering as we speak."

"I believe it is worth asking the odds of us being too late," Harriet interjected. "If they are moving in a figurative straight line for Earth, that is."

Spock's voice was clear in the ringing silence that followed her statement. "It is unlikely they plotted a … straight course for Earth."

"Why not?" Sulu asked. "It makes the most sense." Was Sulu the only one brave enough/ capable of actually participating in this conversation? Why weren't Spock's other officer's contributing more?

By Merlin, Jim was actually being useful in that respect.

Harriett _refused_ -

A figurative light bulb went off for her. "But then they wouldn't have needed Pike for anything if they had."

"The protocols," Jim breathed out. "They needed him to get the subspace frequencies that alert Starfleet to hostile intrusion…"

"That is the most likely scenario," Spock thoughtfully confirmed.

Harriet bit her lip in thought. Was a rescue attempt now in the picture? Did that attempt now coincide with the more pressing concern of Nero and his access to the red matter machine?

"Is there more Doctor?" Spock asked.

"Yes, although I think it would be better to finish the conversation in private."

Spock paused for a moment, then stood and headed toward the turbo lift. "I'm on my way Doctor."

Naturally, Harriet followed.

Naturally, Uhura scowled.

Naturally, others began to seriously wonder the same thing Kirk wondered: who was she? She was practically acting as counsel…

* * *

"What is she doing here?" Jim's tone sounded near, but not quite, hostile and McCoy was momentarily off balance. Suddenly, his new personal office felt even smaller.

"Jim," he said tiredly, "don't. Hari, it's good you joined us. Take the damn cat."

Hari, the evil woman, merely shrugged. "He likes you. There's nothing I can do about it."

McCoy snorted and pointed to his chair. Sighing dramatically, she went to pick up the supposed _cat_. Darn thing was far too intelligent to be a _cat_. He could almost swear it was listening in to their conversation. Almost.

"Doctor, you said there was additional information," Spock stated.

He turned his attention back toward Jim, who was standing, arms crossed, gaze going from Hari to Spock and back again with an expression he didn't quite understand. "Jim?" he asked leadingly.

When Jim failed to elaborate, Spock let a little irritation bleed into his next statement. "I fail to see how this information required privacy Doctor."

"It doesn't," McCoy o so helpfully put in. He knew Spock to a certain extent, and he knew the Vulcan appreciated both directness and getting quickly to the point.

… Didn't he say he wasn't going to be the one who asked? "Hari, Jim claims older Spock didn't know who you were." There. "Know anything?"

Harriet simply blinked owlishly, then began to slowly stroke the four-legged interloper, like some B-rated villain from a B-rated film.

… well, that was an interesting reaction.

"Hari?" he asked suspiciously. "What'd you do?"

Harriet's expression turned mildly offended. "Me? Nothing." Her eyes and lips set in concentration, thoughtfully adding, "but I'm not entirely surprised."

"Harriet?" Was that uncertainty in Spock's voice? That was _twice_ , no _three_ times in the last half hour where even he could tell the Vulcan was being emotional. He discretely eyed Spock, his thoughts from earlier returning.

Harriet's quiet _hmmm_ was most assuredly not helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: None! [how'd that happen?!]


	35. The Wisdom of Q, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this long after when I should have been sleeping. In three hours. Never again.

"I've done nothing," she declared. "Well, not entirely true I suppose. I did warn Spock, who warned Pike. But that's not what you mean, is it?"

A firm "No" was Jim's only reply. Bones and Spocky remained silent, eyes firmly trained on her.

She hmmm'd. "To clarify, he didn't know who I was at all?" When Jim merely stared back, she sniffed and decided his immaturity was still a near crippling issue. Didn't he understand the trial of command never ended? If he felt this was truly important to achieving the mission, then he would need to be _helpful_. "Again, not surprising but terribly unhelpful all the same."

Kirk, perhaps recognizing any pushiness on his part wouldn't be either accepted or helpful, kept his mouth shut and allowed her to continue to think.

How _did_ one explain meddlesome, timeless beings to those who had no concept of them or their whims?

She turned her eyes to Spock. "I'm not entirely sure how it actually works out." Fact. "I can only speculate." Truth. "From what I know, there can only be one in my situation at any given point in time." Likely true. "As such, it stands to reason I can only exist in one given arc of reality at a time." Right?

Which didn't touch on whether she could be in any one given dimension at a given point in time while in another.

… not _entirely_ relevant.

"That makes no sense," Kirk decided.

Harriet shrugged. It wasn't supposed to make sense.

Bones had the _nerve_ to sigh.

"I really don't see why this is particularly relevant. Or why it had to be discussed in private. If anything, we've only created more confusion and speculation by doing so," she pointed out.

"Did you come through time as well?" Kirk asked with a surprising amount of seriousness.

An interesting question. She didn't think so…

"I honestly don't know," she answered. It likely wasn't the answer he either wanted or expected but he maintained his serious bearing.

Which, really, _odd_.

"… your disorientation that first day at the Academy…" Spock quietly considered.

"Hmmm." Well, no time like the present – right? "Not the same. Not an entirely divorced concept, but not the same." She paused to organize her thoughts and stroked Smaug's fur. "I, unknowingly at the time, completed a task that made me into something of a… traveler."

When she paused a bit too long, Spock interjected. "… that is not sufficient Harriet. I remind you of my commitment to the Prime Directive."

Harriet snorted, just catching Kirk's surprised face, and Bones' not _quite_ so surprised face, out of the corner of her eye. She'd have to follow up on that…

"Our standing disagreement aside, that's not entirely relevant. I was born on Earth to perfectly normal parents." She cocked her head to the side, focus entirely on Spock.

It was Bones who broke their moment, eyes calculating. "Which Earth?"

"And when?" tacked on Kirk.

Harriet turned her head slightly and blinked at them absently for a moment, missing her TrelawneysTM, then turned back to Spock.

"Well, that's been one of the more nagging questions since we've met actually. I mean, you'd think there'd only be one Earth, right? But a lot of the history before the Eugenics Wars is missing." Along with _magic_ in general, which posited solid evidence this _wasn't_ the Earth she'd been born on but that evidence wasn't _conclusive_.

Kirk made a sound that reminded her of someone choking on air. Too bad she couldn't see Bones' face clearly – she rather enjoyed labeling his reactions.

"What else is missing?" Spock asked quietly, his eyes still tracking hers.

Harriet's only response was to flare her nose. Really, it was an old pain. It no longer hurt to think on as it used to be. Yet, here she was, reluctant to even mention it to two people she could no longer deny being … at the very least firmly attached.

Maybe it was Kirk's presence that was throwing her off?

'How annoying!'

"Everyone and every where."

McCoy's face pinched, likely in some recognition of the nature of her prior pain.

"Luna." Spock, naturally, would pick apart her statement for the said that was unsaid.

"And any trace of the name or lineage." She shrugged. Would Kirk even pick up on the fact Luna wasn't a reference to her or her lineage? "That's not entirely on point or topic though. If anything, I came _forward_ in time, whereas Nero went _backward_." She looked directly at Kirk. "I have no association with him."

"That doesn't explain how the other Spock doesn't know who you are," Kirk insisted.

"Like I said, there can likely only be one in my situation at any given point in time. If I was traveling elsewhere at the time, I could not have been in his time. I cannot be here AND there at the same time." Sure. Probably. Right?

"That doesn't make sense," Kirk gritted out.

"And your companion? Your warnings?" asked Spock, railroading over Kirk's moodiness. And likely adding to Kirk's ongoing sense of being out of the loop. And perhaps doing the same to Bones.

O Dear.

"Ah. Yes. THAT has entirely to do with that task I unknowingly completed." She made a face. "I was the chosen, if you will, and I've had to live with It ever since." Could they tell she'd capitalized the I in It? She shifted a bit on her feet before letting Smaug down.

Bones didn't even comment.

"And now, It whispers and nudges and haunts as It wills." She straightened back up. "What you must understand Spock, is that there are beings and entities that possess immeasurable power over time, space, the laws of physics, and reality itself."

"And you're a Special Envoy of them?" Kirk interjected, disbelievingly.

Harriet let out a low, bubbling laugh of amusement. "No. They do what they will, as They will. They do not need representatives." Death did not _need_ her. Which is why she always wondered (and sometimes wept/railed at) why It _kept_ her.

Spock caught her attention when he set his shoulders. Had his eyes ever left her?

"Ms. Luna is a Special Envoy of her people." He turned and pinned Kirk with a look before he could even open his mouth. "That is currently sufficient."

Kirk, surprisingly, kept his mouth shut.

For about ten seconds. Which, _odd_. What was with this off and on brashness?

"You don't know Nero and you didn't come back in time. Ok. So how were you able to warn Captain Pike?"

Harriet raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "There are some things you are not entitled to know. _Furthermore_ ," she stressed as he opened his mouth, "I am an ally in the mission to protect the health and safety of this crew and you have been nothing but belligerent. You are formally warned I will tolerate your belligerency no longer." She knew from experience her tone more than adequately conveyed her seriousness. If he still chose to ignore her warning, so be it. "Now, do you have any additional information on the red matter machine?"

* * *

"Only that it can't be destroyed," cadet Kirk said tersely.

"Why not?" Spock briefly wondered the same thing before the answer came to him. Still, it was Kirk who answered Hari's question.

"If you destroy its' dual containment fields, then you end up releasing the contents." Kirk frowned. "That's just what we need, a bunch of red matter floating around the solar system."

"So we have to capture the device in one piece," McCoy stated. "How? Even if we can catch up, you can't go in with guns blazing."

"Correct." Now was the time to act, he decided, but caution was still required. "It is time to convene a strategy session. Harriet, Doctor, if you would return to the bridge with me." Spock pivoted on the spot and headed toward the entrance to the office.

"Wait," came Kirk's voice. "I can help. No, wait, _please_."

Spock stopped against his better judgement and turned back around. "If you have nothing more to add, then our conversation is done cadet."

"Look, the Captain trusted me enough to make me Second Officer before he left for a situation he knew he might not return from. And the other version of you was _certain_ I was the Captain of this ship. That has to speak for something."

"Your actions have spoken louder than your potential." He caught the faintest notion of movement at his side. "Harriet. Do not … interfere," he murmured in Vulcan. She gave him a doubtful look but eventually nodded her understanding. He began walking out of medical at a crisp pace, fully aware of the low likelihood the cadet would remain where he was told. "I am more interested in knowing what resources or knowledge you can provide," he continued.

"It depends," she answered in the same language. She drew next to him and matched his stride. "I'm not exactly suited for space."

"That is not to say you are unable to adapt." He ignored the cadet that was indeed stubbornly following behind the doctor. Provided he did not open his mouth, he would not have reason to act immediately. There were more pressing concerns. "Can we utilize any of your skills or those adaptations in our attempt to seize the vessel?"

"Not if it involves electronics. No, without quite a bit of time and study to ensure no adverse effects to the ship, the risk is high enough for me to not feel particularly comfortable."

"And your – wards – cannot be extended to cover the ship?" If they could…

"No, not without significant time and effort." She expelled a gust of air, before continuing. "Honestly Spock, I have already done what I am willing to try aboard this vessel."

"I ask only to be thorough," he said softly. Why had he lowered his voice?

"Then as the captain of this vessel, I commend your efforts. However," she continued, "I have limits, both natural and self-imposed."

"I thank you for your trust and ask – "

"Please speak English," McCoy interrupted in his usual fashion.

"- ask that you continue to provide what aid you can," he finished in his native Vulcan. It was – oddly relieving to both hear and speak _his_ mother tongue even if it changed nothing about recent events.

When she spoke next, Harriet's tone was amused. "I told Pike very plainly that I will not be pushed to extend myself, my knowledge, or my connections for an endeavor that I do not approve of."

"And do you not approve of our course of action?"

"What _is_ our course of action," she asked in Common. "If you wish to catch that vessel strictly to execute a rescue mission, no, I do not." They entered the bridge. "That machine must be removed from Nero's control. He cannot be allowed to travel across time as he pleases."

A part of Spock, the more human part he supposed, was not appalled but wondering at her lack of care for Captain Pike's continued survival. The more Vulcan aspects of him, however, understood completely: the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. It was the only reason he had not called Security to escort the cadet to the brig: brashness and an absolute commitment to survival could be an asset if directed in the proper direction. Now, how to direct it?

Cadet Kirk had been useful during the fighting on the drill. He had been useful in his acquisition of Engineer Scott. Perhaps he would be useful in a boarding attempt?

"Mr. Sulu, has there been any change?"

"No, Captain. They're going to be in geosynchronous orbit around Earth in eight minutes. We'll never make it."

"Even if we could Keptin, the only chance we might have of inflicting any significant damage is to take them completely by surprise." As the Tactical chief, Chekov could be relied upon to know such things. "We already know the _Narada_ is more powerful than any Federation vessel. They'll have their own defenses up. They'll be looking for remnants of the fleet as well as local defenses to strike out at them. Ground-based aircraft and missiles won't have a chance of penetrating their shields. Any ship of starship size that drops out of warp near Earth will get pulverized before it has a chance to respond."

Tactical chief and helmsman exchanged a glance.

"There's no way we can drop out of warp within effective attack range without them detecting our presence and responding," Mr. Sulu added. "They'll be scanning everything inside the orbit of Mars. If we emerge outside detection range it's even worse: they'll have plenty of time to see us coming if we try to engage on impulse power."

"As fir getting on board the Romulan vessel, ye can forget transwarp." Mister Scott said it with certainty but was eying Harriet with some degree of interest. "Beaming from a fixed pint on a planetary surface to a ship travelin' in subspace is one thing. Tryin' to beam from a ship _travelin'_ through subspace onto another travelin' through subspace boggles the calculus." He paused and fully turned toward Harriet. "Unless, o' course, the lass kens another way?"

Harriet considered it and Scott before looking back at Spock and shaking her head.

It was fascinating that she didn't give a verbal answer.

* * *

Harriet herself felt entirely superfluous at this point. What did she know about Saturn, magnetic fields, ionization, and coming out of warp behind a moon? What she did know was that they had less than three minutes left to get whatever it was that they were planning done. They needed to hurry. It. Up. –

"If Mister Sulu can maneuver us into position according to the dictates expressed by Mister Chekov, and relying on Mister Scott's expertise in calculating transporter delimitations, I believe I can be beamed aboard Nero's ship."

'Wait, what? I thought we were letting Kirk hang around for a reason?!' She sent Spock a look that was equal parts incredulity and shock. Didn't he know the _Captain_ wasn't supposed to go rushing in?

"I'll do it," Kirk volunteered before she could get a word out.

'Darn straight he would!'

"Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Unless, as Mister Chekov suggests, the technology on board the _Narada_ has changed beyond recognition, I am probably sufficiently familiar with Romulan scientific and engineering standards to access their ship's functions and thereby locate the device."

Point. STILL!

"Then I'm coming with you." Really, _now_ what did Kirk have to prove? No, that wasn't very generous of her. He'd always been angling for a rescue attempt. Let him. He'd proven he could take a bit of a bloody nose if nothing else, it was as good a time as any to see if he could handle being given an _actual_ task.

Spock seemed to consider what was not a request but an inevitable declaration of intent.

"I would cite regulation stating that a Captain and First Officer should not be off their ship at the same time, but I know you will simply ignore it."

Kirk had the gall to smile. "See? We're getting to know each other."

Oh, Spock already had Kirk's number. At this point, she was pretty sure it was more a matter of whether or not they would come to blows and kill each other or come to blows and somehow become something closer to friends as a result of it.

"Right, so, Spock and I to the machine, Kirk to Pike. Anything else? No? Right then." She nodded decisively, ignoring the looks on the bridge being thrown her way, and began making her way toward the transporter room. "Tally ho."

"Harriet?" Spock called as he turned to follow after her.

"This ordeal isn't over yet. Surely, you don't expect me to simply sit here?"

"Will you speak in a language we can all understand?" Kirk demanded. "Please," he added into the silence.

"No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: All nighter! (does sleep deprived count?);
> 
> The Wisdom of Q (from Star Trek Next Generation and Star Trek Voyager):
> 
> a) "You just don't get it [name]. The trial never ends."
> 
> b) "If you can't take a little bloody nose, maybe you outta go back home and crawl back under your bed. It's not safe out here. It's wondrous with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross but it's not for the timid."


	36. Dueling Dragons, Part I

In the main transporter room, Spock readied himself for departure. Utility belts, tricorders, phasers – they needed to take enough gear to try and ensure the success of their mission but not so much that it would slow them down. At least they were able to leave behind food and water. If they were on the Romulan vessel long enough to have to either eat or drink, then they would likely have failed.

When word reached them from the bridge that the _Enterprise_ had successfully emerged from warp and had entered Titan's atmosphere without being detected, Spock couldn't suppress both his pride and his relief. He imagined both came through in his tone.

"Well done, Mister Sulu, Mister Chekov." He nodded slightly as he finished strapping his phaser into its holster; a strange habit he was sure he had picked up from Harriet somehow. "If you think you have a tactical advantage, do not hesitate, even if we are still aboard. If we can't gain possession of the device but you can cripple their ship, then you'll be able to negotiate from a position of strength." He looked Harriet directly in the eye, quietly seeking her understanding. "Our survival is not necessary to the success of this enterprise. Understood?"

He was met only with silence on the com. Just as he was about to repeat himself, there was a firm response that Spock could appreciate.

"Understood Captain. Good Luck."

Normally, he would wonder what luck would have to do with it. But for the first time… he thought he might just understand the sentiment.

Having already equipped Kirk, his former student passed him a special translator. "This goes in place on your uniform, in the chest area. Far enough –

"I am aware of the instrument's optimal location," he replied in a voice he hoped was not indicative of his slight confusion. Why would she assume he did not know this?

"Yes – yes, of course you are." She took a deep breath before stepping back. "Be careful…sir." She stepped clear, turned, and exited the transporter bay.

Still at a slight loss for what he was missing, but knowing he was missing _something_ , he looked over to Harriet. She very helpfully quirked her lips and shook her head.

Later then. For now, it was best to concentrate on the task at hand.

* * *

Nero joined the crew in admiring the vision on the view screen: the blue and white matrix of sea and sky that was Earth's most striking feature.

' _So much water_ ,' Nero thought in no small bit of wonder. On this planet before them, there was water in abundance where it was so often scarce on other worlds. Other worlds such as Vulcan. But now neither water nor anything else was a problem for Vulcan, or for the feeble remnants of that calculating, deceitful race, so what point was there in including them in his observations?

"It is beautiful, no?" he murmured aloud as he continued to contemplate the glowing image on the monitor.

"Yes, Captain." Having seen to the _Narada's_ safe arrival at its latest destination, the helmsman had momentarily moved from his station to stand near his leader. "It is. I wonder why they decided to call it Earth instead of Water?"

A wonder indeed.

An awkward pause followed, during which the helmsman seemed to consider something.

"Sir, the men and I have discussed this. What we are about to do..." He hesitated. "We can save our home now. _Stop this_."

The intimations of wistfulness that had crept into Nero's face as he stared down at the planet he was about to eradicate vanished. His features hardened as he turned to face his first officer.

"We can go back," the officer continued. "That's what we want. We have taken our vengeance on Vulcan. We want to go home now."

Did he now? And who did he mean by 'we'?

He fingered his ceremonial staff. "There is no need to threaten me, Ayel. I understand. I understand – but you are _wrong_." From the wrong end of the staff, four blades snicked outward.

Ayel's eyes grew wide – as he fell backward onto the deck.

* * *

Harriet, for her part, had immediately gone to stand at the ready beside a transporter pad. Then proceeded to stare at it skeptically. Was now really the time to experiment with technology?

_Come._

It was always slightly creepy to hear that raspy whisper of a voice.

_I will not lose you._

'Cause that was any less creepy!'

She huffed and crossed her arms, still staring at the pad. She was already as prepared as she wanted, needed to be: satchel, medical pack, battle pouches, dragon hide armour and boots, wand holster loaded with _it._

_Come._

Right. It was just a small matter of being DEMATERIALIZED, then REMATERIALIZED, hopefully, correctly. Again, hopefully. Why was no one else bothered by this?!

She looked up when the nearest com device announced they had successfully arrived, then sought out Spock's whereabouts. She was really starting to reconsider this whole transporter usage thing…

When he locked eyes with her and said their survival wasn't necessary for the completion of the mission, she calmed herself, nodded her head sharply at him, and stepped onto the pad. Now was not the time for shenanigans.

_I will not lose you_.

'Reassuring. Truly.' She chewed on a lip as she considered her options for opening moves, only just catching the tail end of Spock's interaction with his former student.

'Ouch.' In spite of the situation, she felt…something for the woman. But not enough to properly explain why she merely waved away the translator device. She didn't need to deal with the added complication of _more_ technology possibly interacting poorly with her magic.

Besides, Allspeak.

"Okey-dokey then. If there's any common sense to their ship design and if it relates in any practical way to what we know of smaller Romulan vessels, then I'll be puttin' ye right in the cargo bay," Scotty told them. "Big enough open space to ensure ye dinnae materialize inside one of the crew. There shouldna be a soul in sight."

Harriet nodded along with Kirk. Spock, exuding more confidence then he likely felt, simply gave the command:

"Energize, Mister Scott."

_Prepare._

A wand dropped out of a loaded holster into a waiting hand.

* * *

Three bodies materialized in the center of the _Narada's_ not so empty, rambling, multi-compartmented cargo bay. The near dozen crew present reacted with surprise as what was clearly two Starfleet officers _and something other_ began to fire at them with a deadly combination of speed and skill.

Being general crew on a mining vessel, they were not properly prepared to face _the Vulcan_ that became nothing more than a blur of movement or _the other_ that was nothing more than living, moving shadow. Something primal told them to stay away from this _other_ , to avoid it if they valued breathing.

The presence of the human seemed almost inconsequential.

Thus, the closest crew members focused their attacks on the Vulcan. They surged forward, swings wild, their attempts to grab easily evaded. They swarmed him, attempting to use their numbers to their advantage, but attacking the Vulcan was like grappling with a shadow. And where the shadow wasn't dancing, a phaser was aiming, curtesy of the human.

Ultimately, however, the one carrying the phaser seemed to be more concerned with neutralizing the crew members who ran to sound the alarm, only just catching them before they ever had the chance to touch the controls. When the one armed worker present went to fire at the human from behind a column, _the other_ noticed him, and before he could even properly raise his weapon to fire, its hand twitched and he fell, red clouding his vision before it failed.

It was over before any truly had the time to be thankful _the other_ hadn't chosen to properly participate.

* * *

It took a moment for Kirk to realize there were no more attackers when he turned his attention back to his more immediate surroundings. Around him, there were only bodies lying unmoving and unconscious on the ground surrounding Spock.

Then the woman known as Harriet passed him, twirling an oddly knotted stick of all things in her left hand.

… where was her phaser? Hadn't she used a phaser? Someone else had used a phaser and it clearly hadn't been Spock… Unless, the Vulcan was just that good. Which, possible, but not the point.

"Can you gather the whereabouts of the device?" she asked the acting captain, taking up a guard stance to Spock's right as one of the bodies began to struggle back to consciousness.

In response, Spock knelt and placed his hands on the alien's temples and closed his eyes. After a grueling minute of waiting, Kirk grew rather anxious. His experience with the older Spock, Spock Prime as he'd labelled him, was enough to inform his guess of what Spock was attempting. Would it be that simple? Or would they have to resort to more basic interrogation techniques?

"Do you know where it is? The black hole device?" he finally asked. They didn't have time to –

"And Captain Pike," came the response.

As Spock moved off to find an input device, likely to check their own location and chart a path to their objective, Kirk spared another glance for Harriet.

Something was definitely off with the woman. He could clearly see another body lying unconscious not far from him, one that he hadn't engaged. Yet, even as he looked her over again, he saw no phaser. Nor did he find any evidence she had helped in any other way.

Had it been a wayward shot by one of the crew?

* * *

A torrent of tightly contained, tornadic plasma roared from the mouth of the drill platform with directed precision. As on Vulcan, the drill could have been aimed at any point on the Earth's surface. The most practical place for deployment, and the one that would have produced the quickest result, would have been the Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean. There, the plasma would have hissed its way through kilometers of water in mere seconds to strike the planetary crust at one of its thinnest points.

But Nero was not in a hurry.

_Providentially,_ the rest of Starfleet was infinitely far away engaging in pointless maneuvers in the Laurentian sector. Even if the _Enterprise_ or one of the other wayward vessels had managed to limp off to intercept them, they would be too late. Earth's multiple automated defensive stations had been electronically disabled, thanks to the codes extracted from the admirably stubborn, but eventually responsive, prisoner Pike.

The captured captain had resisted the interrogation manfully, but he was only composed of flesh and blood. He was not even aware that he had surrendered the information necessary to allow the _Narada_ to safely assume its unassailable geosynchronous position above the west coast of North America.

'A valiant representative of his species,' Nero mused, 'however futile his efforts at resistance.'

He had already decided that his brave prisoner would live. Pike would comprise one of several interesting exhibits to be returned to the triumphant Romulus of this time frame.

"Magnification," he commanded.

The science officer complied, and the view on the forward viewscreen increased exponentially.

The view showed the plasma stream boring into the rock beneath an extensive saltwater bay. What could be discerned of the surrounding terrain was exceptionally beautiful. It was no wonder, he thought, that Starfleet had chosen this particular coastal location for the site of Starfleet Headquarters and its noisome Academy.

Reports from the drill's sensors indicated that the city itself sat atop a major but now stabilized earthquake fault. It was ironic then that it should be the site for the insertion of the red matter that would initiate the reaction that would destroy the planet.

Ironic, but also fitting.

He was pleased.

* * *

Harriet thought their whole arrival rather anti-climatic, given Death's warning. Perhaps he had been warning her for another reason? Clearly there was more to come but as she watched Spock's fingers work the alien input device speedily, she couldn't help feeling a bit hopeful about their chances.

Nonetheless, she refocused her mind on their surroundings, keeping vigilant to Spock's right as he continued to work.

"How the hell are you doing this?" came Kirk's voice. Why was he watching Spock and not helping her pull security? Not that she needed the help; she'd already seen to it that the six Romulans Spock had taken out by hand would not be waking up anytime soon. Not to mention the others she'd taken care of…

"I am familiar with the technology of several other space-going species besides that of Romulus. While the design of this instrumentation is different, it is not so radically advanced that I cannot fill in the divergences with intuition. One plus one equals two no matter where one happens to be in the known cosmos, and the means for generating such a result are not beyond inference to one who is familiar with the basics."

Wait, was Spocky nervous? Why was he nervous? She turned to stare at the pair of images that had appeared within the projection screen – one showed a small starship of unique design, the other a truly disheartening sight: Pike lying on a platform suspended above a pool of liquid in the depths of a dark chamber.

'Oh.'

"We now know that the red matter device is on board the small ship in the main hangar – and as you can see, I have also located Captain Pike."

"Is he alive?" Kirk asked weakly.

Spock tuned a couple of inputs but even Harriet could tell the additional details supplied were immaterial.

"Unknown. This is the cargo bay, and we only have access here to minimal visualizations, not medical information."

Kirk nodded. "Let's move."

"Wait," Harriet called, thinking quickly. Wasn't Nero's plan to drop red matter through the drill somehow into the Earth? Had they already taken that measure of red matter from the device? "Where is the drill operations center? The exact location will be helpful." After a considering look, Spock nodded and began to work the interface once more.

For Kirk's sake, she explained what she and Spock had silently come to an agreement on. "We'll split up. The two of you go for the device and the ship, that's the priority. I'll go after the drill. Scotty can beam me off after I'm done."

"Why are you suddenly interested in the drill?" Was that suspicion or pure curiosity? She couldn't tell.

And honestly didn't care.

"It was the red matter that destroyed Vulcan, not the drill itself. If they've already taken some measure of it from the ship to the drill, we need to make sure it remains contained and unused."

"It should be relatively simple to deactivate the drill while you are searching." Spock's subtle reminder that _deactivating_ the drill was also a priority should have been expected.

She looked at him skeptically.

Instead of commenting further, he nodded in the direction of the still unconscious crew members. "They will begin to recover within a short time."

Kirk let out a short "Doesn't matter" just as she informed Spock they wouldn't. Both men looked at her questioningly. She merely raised an eyebrow and repeated herself.

"Now, where to?" She pressed Spock. "Allons-y and all that."

"The command center is here." He turned and gave her what should have been an inscrutable look. But she knew that look: it was the look of someone who was about to go off into battle and didn't know if they would see you again.

She walked over to him with only the slightest bit of hurry in her steps, then, without a sound, rested her forehead on his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso. After a moment she raised her head to look at him.

"I will not say goodbye," she said quietly. Stepping away ever so slightly, she brought her fingers up in a Vulcan salute. "'Til we meet again."

He copied the gesture, bringing his hand dangerously close to touching hers.

Kirk coughed. While she was sure they were both more inclined to stay where they were, Spock broke eye contact with Hari and strode off in the direction of the hangar holding the device.

Kirk gave her an awkward smile, then hurried after him.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, with an understanding she wanted the most _direct_ route to her objective, she pulled out her wand.

" _Point me_ drill command center."

* * *

The vastness of the _Narada_ worked to their advantage. Having no reason to believe intruders might be aboard, and with their own transporter intentionally disabled to prevent any enemy from potentially making forcible use of it, they managed to avoid being seen before continuing on their way.

When they reached the main hangar, they stopped. There, resting alongside Captain Pike's shuttlecraft, sat the strange Vulcan vessel, open and unguarded. Which, to Spock, was all the more reason the two of them were justified in boarding the vessel cautiously, not allowing themselves to relax until they stood in the forward cabin.

He immediately intuited where the command station was located and began to analyze it.

He only vaguely registered Kirk's movement toward a panel that verbally confirmed what he already suspected:

" _Voice print, face, pheromone, body density, and retinal recognition analysis enabled."_

After a command to switch to Federation Standard by Kirk, the computer repeated itself.

"Spock, looks like you'll be piloting the ship alone."

"Which may be problematic." Responding to his voice, the ship immediately sent a scan playing across his features. "While I recognize certain essential instrumentation, I have to confess that I am unfamiliar with this particular vessel's design and construction." Other, less visible security instruments took note of everything from his height to the color of his eyes to his general respiration within the span of his admission.

" _Access granted, Ambassador Spock. All ship functions are now at your disposal."_

Kirk took a step toward the console. "You'll be able to fly this thing, right?"

"Something tells me I already have." As he processed this, he turned to stare back at Kirk. "While I attempt to engage with this vessel, I presume you are going to try and find Captain Pike."

Kirk shrugged, as if what he had just surmised was the most natural thing in the world. "He told me to come and get him. Just following orders. Like I always do."

Spock did not know how to respond to that. Instead, he continued with the vague emotion that had 'struck him' as he said… goodbye to Harriet.

"Jim," and here he almost hesitated, his use of Kirk's first name enough to convey his unease, "the statistical likelihood that our plan will succeed is less than four point three percent."

"It'll work."

This time, he did hesitate. "In the event that I do not return, tell Harriet …"

"Spock, it'll work," Kirk insisted before he could finish.

He stared at Kirk for a moment, collected himself, then turned and sat down in the Captain's chair. It moved forward into position without his command.

" _Startup sequence initiated."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mistaken Identity; "My Love Will Never Die" by Claire Wyndham [fill for The Resurrection Lily]


	37. Dueling Dragons, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV Whiplash ahead

Harriet moved quickly and efficiently toward the drill operations center. And by efficiently, she meant doors were optional and lifts were unnecessary. That's not to say she was walking through walls but, well, if she just so happened to create a few holes here and there on her way to her objective, who was there to complain?

As it happened, quite a few were there to complain – for a time at least. The Romulans on board the ship didn't always seem to notice her. Those who did however, always had the same reaction: a moment of fear in which they paused to process what they were seeing.

She suspected the mantle of Death that had settled around her shoulders the moment she had _rematerialized_ (bah!) on the _Narada_ had something to do with it. But who was she to complain? It allowed her to react swiftly, wordlessly knocking the crew unconscious as she went about slipping in and out of the dimly lit corridors.

'And another one bites the dust.'

Was that somewhat callous? Why, yes, yes it was. However, in her current state – mind completely set on obtaining her objective – she was beset with a sort of martial clarity, unhindered by questions of morality or humanity.

Which explained the cool efficiency with which she was currently handling the personnel she was clinically picking off from a hole in the drill operations center ceiling.

Her original plan had been to two finger tap her way through initiating the drill shut off. However, given the sheer size of the cavernous room, and the MASSIVE drill in the center of it, she didn't know where to even begin intuiting where the emergency shut off button could _be_.

'Ok. New plan: find the red matter, cause as much destruction as possible after it's secure. _Point me_ red matter.'

Her wand, rising to hover just above her right hand, spun immediately left and ever so slightly down.

' _Accio_ container holding red matter.'

Because, clearly, it would be held in some form of container right?

* * *

Spock waited until he was relatively certain Kirk was clear of both the hangar and the surrounding corridors. It would not due for him to blast his way clear of the hangar only for the intrusion of the external environment to set off containment safety measures that would trap Kirk within an unknown radius of the hangar. No, the few minutes time he would likely need to clear the vicinity was best used to continue to familiarize himself with the vessel.

He spared a moment to properly appreciate the undertaking he was about to commence.

Then, after approximately two point three minutes, he let loose the ship's weapons, opening an exit just as effectively as any hangar command – with considerably more noise and accompanying destruction. As large sections of the hangar doors flew outward, the now fully activated Vulcan craft zipped through the opening that emerged.

Growing more and more familiar with the ship's instrumentation with every passing moment, he swooped in and out among the _Narada's_ superstructure, firing at close range at all targets that presented themselves and some that did not. His intentions were simple: disable the Romulan vessel as much as possible from within the protective diameter of her defensive shields.

Then, with its crew occupied and reeling from the destruction, he left the Romulan ship behind and drove the remarkably responsive one-man starship toward Earth. Without breaching her atmosphere, he quickly observed Harriet's work, confirming that the drill was indeed in the process of being deactivated given the manner in which it was shuddering.

He saw no reason not to help her with the task.

Thus, with a carefully directed single burst from the craft's compact but powerful weapons, he roughly sliced through the complex tangle of cables supporting and powering the plasma drill. The few lines that remained when he was done, snapped and the drill platform plunged downward toward the planet's surface.

Task accomplished, Spock switched objectives once more and headed out system.

The _Narada_ , he was pleased to note, followed.

* * *

Kirk worked his way through the vast and largely deserted reaches of the Romulan ship. Occasionally, he would pause to check the information that had been downloaded to his tricorder but otherwise kept a steady pace. Once he had to back up and retrace his steps, another time he took a wrong turn and was forced to correct his course. Still, he didn't run into any of the crew, which honestly put him on edge.

Nonetheless, he eventually confronted a closed doorway with the specific and unpleasant markings in Romulan that he sought. It granted his request for entry without hesitation, amplifying his hyper awareness.

The room he entered cautiously was dark and damp even for a Romulan interrogation chamber. All the same, he was able to quickly spot the captain laying fastened to a slightly tilted platform, still silent and unmoving.

When he reached the platform, he placed his hand in front of Pike's nose and just barely detected a breath. That single sensation of air softly hitting his hand was enough to uplift his spirits and reenergize his efforts.

He quickly began to study the restraints. In the end, he decided there was nothing elaborate about the straps. As traditional and straight forward as they were effective, they yielded rapidly to his determined hands and a bit of applied strength.

As he worked, he quietly hoped Pike would come to and somehow assist him. Yet, the captain merely continued to stare upward, in no way acknowledging his efforts or silent pleas. His own movements became increasingly frantic and his hyper awareness of his surroundings slowly began to ebb in favor of heretofore unfelt, and growing, panic.

" _Come on sir!"_ He whispered intensely, nearly overcome. "I came back. Just like you ordered."

The captain didn't so much as blink.

* * *

Spock was concentrating on preparing to enter warp when the computer announced an incoming hail. After a moment of consideration, he sat back, opened the channel, and looked directly into the ship's pickup. Nero's face quickly took up the screen.

" _Spock_ , it _is_ you. I should have killed you when I had the chance."

He imagined that a human would have reacted differently, perhaps with a counter threat, maybe with a word-string full of hatred and accusation and foul language. But he was also Vulcan, and as such, saw no logical reason why being direct could not be its own form of both revenge and provocation.

"Under authority granted me by the Europa Convention of Sentient Species, I hereby confiscate this illegally obtained ship and order you to surrender your vessel. No terms. No discussion. No deals."

"You can't cheat me again, Spock," Nero, to use a Harriet expression, snarled. "I know you better than you know yourself. I know what has to happen, what is preordained by the time stream, and you can't stop it!"

Spock knew this to be highly unlikely, especially given the holes he knew existed in Nero's knowledge of time travel and this time line in particular.

So, Spock chose to merely continue to gaze unflinchingly at Nero. He could not find it in himself or the situation to ignore a single fact: it was time to maneuver to end this – the game had gone on long enough.

"Last warning: unconditional surrender or you will be destroyed."

* * *

Nero seethed. Fury had long since overcome reason within his mind. From the moment he had seen the Vulcan's face on the screen, ensuring the Vulcan's death had become paramount.

He turned toward tactical. "Fire at will."

His new second-in-command was reluctant. "Sir, if a direct hit should occur, either phaser energy or photon torpedoes contain enough explosive force to momentarily duplicate the heat and pressure present in the core of a planet. A strike could cause a portion of the red matter to implode and ignite, thereby – "

" _Don't talk back to me!_ This isn't a time for arcane scientific speculations – I want Spock dead!"

"He went into warp sir!"

"Go after him!"

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

Pike stared up quietly into the eyes of Death, all of his senses locked in an ongoing battle to understand what he was experiencing. Or had been experiencing. Was he truly experiencing anything at this point? Was he even still awake? Or had he passed out from the torture?

Should he be concerned?

He should be concerned. Wasn't he supposed to be fighting something?

Was not Dylan correct, when he said one should burn and rave at close of day?

But he didn't feel as if he had anything left to rage over. He was also wise enough to know the dark wished him no harm, had watched as it did nothing but offer him solace as his senses were overwhelmed and then shattered.

Though he thought himself a good man – at times wild, at times grave, on days older than his years – his eyes were neither blind nor blinded by sight. For all that had been done to him, his vision was clear, his soul … his soul was perhaps haunted but not tortured.

All, he was certain, because of the being that was staring down at him, now offering a skeletal hand out from the mass of darkness for him to take.

After all of this, would he go gentle into the night?

Even as the slightest sensation of his body being maneuvered filtered through, he knew the answer … and attempted to reach his tired hand out in gratitude.

* * *

As more straps were released, Kirk fought off his relief as his captain fought to move his arm. That relief quickly died when he realized it was only the one arm and that his eyes where still fixated on a single point above them.

"I'm not leaving here without you sir," he whispered, pulling at the last strap.

With his back to the entrance as it was, he didn't see the heavily armed guards that entered the room, so much as hear them. He had enough time to draw his sidearm before one of them triggered their weapons, then pain blossomed in his shoulder as he fell backward onto the captain.

* * *

There was a part of Spock that quietly acknowledged, with some small bit of pride, that he was handling both himself and the vessel exceptionally well. It was far more advanced than any vessel he had ever served upon, seen, or studied, and therefore executed evasive maneuvers remarkably well.

He was proving quite hard to hit.

Still, the slightly more frantic side of him quite knew the probability of his winning this engagement. It was simple calculus: the number of weapons the much larger Romulan ship could bring to bear could not be avoided forever.

The torpedo that had just managed to rip into the hull of his vessel was proof of this fact.

" _Warning,"_ the ship announced in deceptively calm tones _, "all shields off-line."_

This was the end then.

But it would not be the end just for him.

He took a deep breath.

Logic and reason reasserted their control over his mind, and he allowed himself to forget everything but a single lesson that every Vulcan learned when they were young: the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

"Computer, prepare to execute General Order Thirteen."

" _General Order Thirteen,"_ it repeated. _"Self-destruct sequence confirmed."_

He redirected the ship's course toward the pursuing _Narada_.

"Execute," he finished.

The hesitation in his voice was perfectly natural.

* * *

The red matter had, thank Circe, indeed been inside a container – of sorts. Did what amounted to a high tech hamster ball count as a qualified containment system? It certainly wasn't her idea of secured containment vessel…

At the very least, it was small, which allowed her to securely tuck it under one arm when she dropped from the hole in the operations room ceiling and went about unleashing chaos.

Controlled chaos, of course!

But with her magic whipping about her, there was really no better word for the destruction and confusion that was unleashed. She saw no need for finesse or true caution. Her war shields were honed over ages, her battle senses forged under the finest teacher – excessive experience. So long as she kept the red matter in its little pocket of peace within her shields, she was safe.

The electronics however? Not so safe. Really, true, wild magic just did not mesh well with electronics, no matter how advanced they claimed to be. So she simply allowed her magic to unfurl to its heart's content, and focused more so on the crew running at her.

The traces of flying hexes and curses, many she had developed herself over the years, mixed freely with sparks shot from control panels and the electrical fire that had started to her right, creating the appearance of a war zone.

Chaos truly erupted when the drill caught fire, seemingly from below. She wasn't even sure how that happened but did it truly matter? The whole point was to dismantle the thing.

'Right. Time to get a bit closer to it then. Maybe a few direct shots and we'll be done here.'

Then one of the frantic, desperate crew must have activated a failsafe as the drill she was _far too close to_ was suddenly, and violently, ejected, cables and moorings included. Harriet's eyes blew wide in true, unbidden surprise as she was caught in the resultant vacuum and the wind knocked out of her.

She subconsciously darted a hand out to catch hold of a barely intact rail in the split second she was sailing past. Franticly, she began silently willing her magic to _stick_ and _not let the hell go_. As her range of vision began to contract, she began to register the lack of oxygen in her lungs – a point that was probably in her favor if the growing pressure on her lungs was any indication.

She couldn't breathe.

She didn't hear or see so much as feel the rail twist under the pressure and pull of open space.

She couldn't breathe. And her vision was beginning to narrow into a point.

Or was that just the _Narada_ getting farther away against a back drop of black?

Her magic was flailing, trying, and failing, to _do something_.

And she couldn't _breathe_. Was this finally the end?

The last thing she registered as she fought to maintain consciousness was a raspy whisper utter a resounding:

" _NO."_

* * *

It was _possible_ there was someone on board the _Enterprise_ who was not fully engaged in some critical task or another, but they were more than likely amongst the wounded in sickbay. Every other member of the crew was on station, their entire being devoted to a particular task at hand. Tactical was pouring as much debilitating fire into the Romulan ship as possible. The helm controllers were executing a ferocious combination of evasive and assaulting actions.

And the technicians in the transporter room were sweating profusely as a very focused Montgomery Scott was directing three equally perilous and life-threatening actions at the same time.

A figure began to materialize on one of the transporter pads. As it started to flicker dangerously, Scotty's attention darted from platform to instrumentation to those assisting him.

"Hold it, hold it," he muttered tensely. "Full power – NOW!"

Just as the first shape began to solidify, two more started to appear beside it on the next transporter pad.

Fingers raced over controls as telltales on the main console flashed in warning. Then, the second pair of silhouettes began to steady and everyone turned their eyes to the third transporter pad, waiting for the fourth and final figure to take shape – only for a technician to begin franticly calling out:

"I'VE LOST HER! I can't lock on!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Epic Rap Battles of History: Game of Thrones: "My readers fall in love with every character I've written! Then I kill 'em! (Aaaah!) And they're like, "No, he didn't!"
> 
> Side note: I'm back in school, so free time to edit has just flown out the window.


	38. The Spaces In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is both a Hobbit and Silmarillion connection to this story, which I’ve previously alluded to and which is also explored in other side stories. It comes out in full in this chapter, then it disappears again next chapter.

Heart seemingly in his throat, Bones pushed aside the frantic calls coming from the engineers and did his best to focus on the forms solidifying on the transporter pads. As the shapes tightened, he was first able to make out Spock, then Kirk and Pike – both of whom collapsed almost instantly.

He and the senior medtech on hand took over immediately, tricorders out, quickly scanning and noting both Kirk's wound and the captain's unresponsiveness. In spite of his blatant injury, Kirk was the first to speak, his voice pained.

"Nice timing. I'm beginning to think you could beam anything from any place to anywhere …" He tiredly looked around. "What's wrong?"

"Hold still Jim," Bones said absently, focused on the captain's barely conscious form. He nearly cursed at the readout. "We're gonna need neurogenic stimulators and" – here he made a face as his scanner locked onto a small dark shape pressed tightly against the captain's spine – "cord sheath protection. Let's prep him for surgery. We're gonna have to do repair, rejuve, and extraction at the same time."

"Where's Harriet?" Spock's voice cut across the room sharply. Bones didn't dare look away from what he was doing but he was sure the look on Scotty's face would say it all.

"I don', I jus, I've ne'er beamed two targets from two places onto the same pad before," Scotty started. "And both targets in motion at that. Three…" The Scott faltered. "We couldn't lock on," he finished weakly.

"Wait, what do you mean you couldn't lock on?!" Jim asked wildly, clearly barely holding onto consciousness.

"We need to get you both to medical Jim." He said firmly as the techs maneuvered captain Pike onto the transport. Hesitantly, he turned to Spock. "Captain?"

Spock looked down, for a moment a semblance of his distress very visible to everyone in the room. Then, he took a deep breath. "I am … unharmed. Report when the captain is stable. Mr. Scott, engineering. I will be on the bridge."

The tightness in Bones chest only became tighter as he forced himself to rush after the medtechs.

* * *

She was floating, of that much she was certain. Where? When? She wasn't sure.

Was she dead?

Was THIS what it finally took for her to reach the end of her long, long, too long life?

If so, she felt justified in being annoyed.

'Would there be a train station this time?' Where would the train take her?

As she floated along, and nothing continued to happen, she gradually realized two things: one, she was breathing just fine and, two, her eyes were closed. She opened them slowly, taking in the blackness of space, of the near and distant _stars_ seemingly surrounding her.

For a moment, she began to panic. Then she noticed something was missing.

'Whatever happened to the _Narada_?'

'Whatever happened to _me_?'

'Did I … travel?'

'No, wait… Death… where was Death?' She was certain she had heard Death's very distinct voice. That had been new…

She stretched out her senses in search of her magic and found herself wrapped tightly in it, as if wrapped up in a cloak. Death's own cloak to boot. It was oddly comforting…

She sighed. Where was she?

… did this new place coffee?

" _You should not be so accepting_."

Harriet didn't even bother to search for the source of the voice. "I'm not accepting, I'm waiting." She was also struggling to face a very likely truth: that she had left behind far more than she'd lost in a long time and it _hurt_ – or it would when she deigned to deal with it.

" _But what are you waiting for?_ "

A spike of anger pierced through the apathy Harriet was attempting to wrap herself in. "What do you mean, 'what am I waiting for?'! As if I have any control in this!"

" _You are my Master_ ," the voice rasped.

"Am I?" she wondered angrily. "Because it doesn't seem like it!"

" _You are my Master_ ," came the simple reply. " _I shall always spare you_."

She deflated. This conversation, and her situation, was too old at this point for her to muster much more than wariness and resignation whenever she confronted it. And annoyance.

True annoyance: this time she'd gotten close… too close to what she just knew she was going to have to leave behind anyway.

" _It is time_."

"For what?" she whispered back, the annoyancehurtpain threatening to overwhelm her thin layer of control…

" _To rest_."

Harriet gave up and let her irritation flow.

"What's that supposed to _mean_?!"

A single point of light began to grow stronger and stronger in the distance, as if it were traveling closer to her position on purpose.

" _You are at a crossroads_."

Wait, so, this wasn't reality, or any reality within which one actually existed? Why change the desktop theme? The train station worked just fine!

" _Rest_."

The cloak almost seemed to snuggle closer to her as a ghostly hand gently shut her eyes.

* * *

The instant Spock reappeared on the bridge, Sulu surrendered the captain's chair to return to his own post at the helm. Chekov was reporting excitedly even before Spock resumed his seat.

"Keptin! The enemy ship is losing power and … its shields are down!" He looked toward the command chair. "All of them! They're defenseless."

All eyes turned toward Spock, and instantly decided something was wrong.

"Lock phasers. Fire all weapons."

A few crewmembers shifted uncomfortably even as they rushed to fulfil the order. There was just something about Spock's tone when he gave the order that made them feel as if they were being particularly vicious.

Nonetheless, a massive burst was unloaded in the direction of the struggling _Narada_. Already weakened by previous attacks, its shields down, and succumbing to the relentless pull of the anomaly, one detonation after another began to tear the huge ship to pieces.

It truly seemed as if their continued assault was excessive…

Then the _Narada_ lost what remained of its drive and began to disintegrate, collapsing into the singularity.

The _Narada_ , Nero, and everyone else on board who had taken part in the destruction of multiple Federation starships and the planet Vulcan – were gone.

The intense look of satisfaction on Spock's face made those few on the bridge who could see it, even more uncomfortable. The look, however, was swiftly replaced with a more schooled expression.

"Mr. Scott, divert all possible power to the main engines."

" _Aye, Captain!_ " came the fierce reply.

A slight quiver ran through the length of the _Enterprise_ as her weapons systems and shields were drawn down so that all power could be directed to the engines. The ship was rammed into warp. Yet the ship's position relative to the system-departing anomaly did not change. It did not fall inward in the wake of the _Narada_ and the _Enterprise_ was unable to pull away.

The very fabric of the ship itself began to vibrate as it threatened to succumb to the enormous gravitational forces clawing at its superstructure.

Spock stared at the main monitor. The view aft showed the all-devouring monster to which the red matter had given birth.

"Maximum warp, Mr. Sulu."

"We are Sir!" Sulu reported.

" _Captain!"_ Scott's voice resounded over the bridge speakers. _"We're caught on the edge of the gravity well! It's got us!"_ He raised his voice to be heard over the straining whine of engines. _"I'm givin' 'er all she's got, Captain!"_

"It is insufficient."

" _If we eject the core, the wave front when it detonates against the singularity might be enough to kick us clear – if it doesn't kill us. And if that fails, then we'll be without drive power! We'll be sucked in for certain!"_

Spock looked over to the helm. "Helm, status."

"Still holding position relative to the anomaly, Captain. If we don't break free soon, we'll begin to lose ground incrementally until we pass the gravitational point of no return!"

"Do it Mr. Scott," he said in an oddly flat voice. "We're dead anyway."

* * *

When she came to a second time, she was floating alongside a glorious ship, vaguely shaped in the form of a swan, with translucent silver sails and a wooden hull that glowed with starlight.

"Lo! Hari Aewen," a male voice called out to her. "Come, sister, take my hand and come aboard."

'Sister?' Hari wondered. Still slightly dazed, she reached out a hand, only vaguely wondering about its freedom. 'Could it be…?' The voice didn't seem quite right though …

A strong hand reached out and grabbed her own, pulling her up and over the low rail of the vessel. She did her best to assist but could do little more than swing her limbs about as she scrabbled aboard until she was on all four limbs, taking a deep breath.

"There we are young one. Breathe."

Breathe. She could breathe. Was this her new reality? Had she travelled? But he'd called her Aewen… and young one of all things… was she… back?

The male crouched down next to her as she continued to puzzle out her new surroundings.

"There Aewen. Just take a moment to breathe." She didn't recognize the voice but, again, the name…

Harriet sat back on her heels and slowly turned her head to look at her new companion. He looked… familiar, somehow. Her confusion must have been clear on her face, for he smiled, then gave a short laugh.

"Ah. Perhaps you will recognize this?" He pointed to the crown on his head, adorned with a jewel of starlight on his brow, and suddenly Harriet knew.

Eärendil.

How could he possibly…?

Eärendil smiled at her. "There now, I am a friend."

Harriet stared, wonder and confusion and _longing_ warring within her. "We've never met," she managed to get out.

"No. Nor do I think we ever properly shall. However, that does not mean we do not know each other."

Harriet frowned. What did that mean? "You're as bad as your sons," she decided.

He laughed merrily at her, then stood and began walking back to the helm of the ship.

Her frown stayed with her as she looked closer at the vessel. She noted its timber and silver lanterns; it's silver sails and fashioned prow. "This is Vingilótë," she announced. This could not be Gil-Estel…

"Not quite," came Eärendil's voice. He was standing at the helm now, strong and confident but relaxed. "Come, Hari Aewen. My journey is ever long. Come, ask your questions."

"My questions?" She wondered from her spot sat on the deck.

"I am certain at least one drives our meeting, for it to occur amongst the stars no less."

Indeed, what strange development was this, that she would meet the father of the twins and not one of the twins themselves?

Harriet thought about her recent conversation with Death, such as it was.

"This isn't real," she decided.

He smiled calmly at her. "As real as any who are destined to meet amongst the stars and not beneath them."

She settled more comfortably upon the deck and considered her options. If it was questions she was meant to ask, then so be it.

"Why appear upon this version of Vingilótë, and not upon Gil- Estel?" she began.

His smile became a bit less pleasant, but still held. "Because, here, in this realm touched by Mandos, I can choose not to."

'In this realm touched by Mandos'…

She was dead then, in some sense of the word, for this could only be another form of Kings Cross. It explained, after a fashion, why the light had been headed her direction – it must have been the ship coming in…What did it mean that she had already boarded the ship? That the ship was being steered in some unknown direction?

After a time, she settled on her next question.

"Why would you still choose to wander the stars indefinitely if you could choose otherwise?"

"I may not have been the one to make the choice to live for eternity, but I was the one who choose to follow the one who did."

Harriet snorted inelegantly. She had made neither of those decisions, much less gone willingly.

His face took on a slightly tired edge but his small smile remained. "That is not to say, I do not enjoy a good rest when it is offered."

"A rest? _This_?" How in Merlin's name was eternally piloting a ship across the heavens a _rest_?

The elf merely chuckled at her expression. "It comes in many different forms but I am always grateful that it comes." Harriet continued to look at the Mariner disbelievingly. He gave a small laugh, still holding the helm steady. "I would not have chosen the long life of the Eldar, but my fair Elwing did, forcing me to choose between the short but bright life of men that promised an end to my weariness and a life, an eternity devoid ever seeing her again. In the end, I chose the option that I could live with. There has been sorrow and grief, yes, and I will not deny that I am weary of my nightly task, but the choosing of Elwing over no Elwing, I shall never regret.

"Rest, Ranaewen," he said softly, "you need not chose hastily."

'Choose? Choose between what?'

He quietly began to slowly sing a lullaby she vaguely remembered from her time living with Maedros and the twins:

_Sun sets, little one_

_Time to dream._

Was she finally being given the choice to _actually_ rest? To see her loved ones? To move on? To finally feel what it meant to be mortal?

_Your mind journeys,_

_But I will hold you here._

No, Death had clearly stated he would always spare her. He/she/it would always _keep_ her.

'Argh!' Then what choice did she truly have?!

_Where will you go, little one,_

_Lost to me in sleep?_

Was it a choice between returning to the last reality and moving on to the next?

Staying or going? Going or staying?

It would not be the first time she returned to a reality she had thought lost to her. It was, after all, how she had gained the twins. But it would be the first time she had effectively died first…

But was that really the choice? It seemed too simple…

Of course she would choose…well, she would choose Spock, wouldn't she, if it were that simple…

But was it?

_Seek truth in a forgotten land,_

_Deep within your heart._

Why Eärendil of all people to greet her? She wondered sleepily (why was she so _tired_?)

She remembered her first meeting with Maedros, upon the shore, where he condemned himself to eternally lament his actions and loss. He had become the embodiment of regret, trapped in his own mind, ever wandering the shores in search of an outlet.

Is that where she was headed? Is that why They chose Eärendil, who _lived_ in spite of his decisions?

Who chose love and devotion and purpose and _held on_ to each even as he discharged his eternal duty?

_Never fear, little one,_

_Wherever you shall go._

_Follow my voice-_

_I will call you home._

_I will call you home._

Where was home? Or was it more appropriate to ask _who_ was home? Could she make the choice Eärendil had made? What would be the cost?

" _Rest_."

* * *

A loud crack startled the crew remaining in the transporter room. Yet what startled them more, was the body that fell seemingly out of the ceiling onto the pad surface and did not stir.

Surprised, but remembering what had happened before, a tech quickly approached the body, identified it, and cautiously checked for a pulse.

"Get medical!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: harriet sings Mir Da'Len Sominar to a child to put them to sleep [partial fill for guest]; The "Auld Acquaintance she forgot..." cameos to her mind (partial fill for Josantos); Spot the Dr Who reference
> 
> Also, playing with a new type of POV in this chapter. It was surprisingly hard not to write strictly in stream of consciousness … not entirely happy with the outcome but at this point I’m just staring at it.


	39. Loose Ends

Bones had been in surgery when Harriet's unresponsive body had seemingly fallen out of the transporter room's ceiling a second time. Therefore, he hadn't been there when they'd placed her in a biobed or he'd have warned them against it. Something about Hari simply didn't get along well with technology and as curious as he was to find out _why_ , now really wasn't the time.

The biobed was apparently starting to malfunction anyway, which… they really couldn't afford that right now.

"Shut it off," he instructed the attending tech. "I'll do manual readings for now."

"As you say, doctor."

It was just Hari's luck they'd brought her to him and not some other doctor. Who knew what kind of care she'd have received if they were too busy routing her from biobed to biobed… who knew what kind of care she'd receive if they realized it was her and not the beds …

He sighed and briefly considered her: of all the times to have to play 'guess the species'…

'Well, she said she was born to perfectly normal parents right?' He narrowed his eyes. 'But did she ever explicitly say they were human?' At least it was him doing the investigating, he supposed.

He pulled out his tricorder and began scanning. After a time, he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, opened his eyes, reset his tricorder, then scanned again. And again. Just to be sure the amount and rate of cellular regeneration he was observing was actually happening. It was almost as if… was half of Harriet _dead_? And _regenerating_?

'What the –' Bones closed his eyes again and dragged a hand down his face.

'Right. Fine. What to do? At this rate, what, she'll be perfectly fine in, what, fifteen minutes? Half an hour?' He'd go make up some ridiculous chart for her, bury it in jargon and double speak, and pretend nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

_Damn_.

This explained _so much_ about why she kept avoiding the topic of Starfleet and why she wouldn't join properly. _HELL_ , it explained why she refused checkups and medical care in general.

… Did she even _need_ medical care?

As he created the false chart, he idly wondered if she'd _actually been alive_ for the Eugenics Wars. _No_ , he wasn't going to go there.

Ten minutes later he was wondering if Spock knew she was probably immortal?

… _On which freakin' Earth had they discovered the secret of effective immortality?!_

_No_ , he wasn't going to go there; he was a professional, _damnit_ , and her friend.

He _was_ going to go back and check on her before someone else had any bright ideas about follow up scans.

"What the hell Hari," he muttered at her prone form, placing the chart on the bed.

"Bones?" came a groggy reply.

"Hari? You okay? How do you feel?" A groan was her only response. "What do you need that'll help?" he pushed.

Like hell if he knew what to do in this situation.

She moved her head slightly towards him with obvious difficulty.

"Coffee?" she grated out.

Was she serious?

"I'll get you some water," he decided. With all the cellular activity seemingly going on within her body, basic, universal hydrating fluids were probably a safe bet.

He WAS NOT going to freak out… or rush to find that carafe of calming draught he knew she had stashed somewhere.

He could wait.

* * *

When Harriet came to properly, it was to the feel of another's hand on her own.

'Huh?'

"Harriet?" came a vaguely familiar feminine voice. "O, Hari, are you with us now?"

'… with us? With who?' Hadn't she gone to sleep on Eärendil's ship?

… or had she died on it …?

… or was she already dead when the ship found her?

She scrunched up her face tiredly and went to rub at her eyes with her other hand before the feel of the IV drip in her arm halted her.

… She felt oddly well rested, considering she'd just been in the realm of Death for an unspecified amount of time.

… wait, this person called her by name…

She opened her eyes and was met with bright hospital light. She hissed in surprise and immediately narrowed her eyes to slits.

"Hari dear, do you need anything? Water?"

Harriet used the time her eyes were adjusting to the light to process the voice she was hearing. "Amanda?"

"Yes? I'm here."

"Where?" she asked slowly. Her throat felt as if it hadn't been used in sometime… or was that just a side effect of having all the air sucked out of you after being jettisoned into space?

A beat passed before Amanda answered in a quiet voice: "You're in medical. On the _Enterprise_." She paused. "They thought you died."

She blinked slowly. Well, didn't that sound familiar.

Wait, she'd been brought back? To the same time and place? She blinked again.

"How long…?" she got out softly, haltingly.

"You've been here for roughly half an hour. Dr. McCoy requested that someone stay with you, and I volunteered."

Harriet blinked at her. 'But how did I get to _medical_?' and why had Bones assigned her a chaperone?

"Harriet, dear, he said it was a repeat of what happened before. Except," she hesitated, "except I'm certain I'm not being told something important. We're told the ship is no longer in danger, but there was a moment there when I was certain…" she trailed off.

Amanda's other hand reached for the one already holding Harriet's and gripped it tightly. For a while, they sat in tense silence. Amanda was waiting for something, asking for something, and for the life of her, she simply couldn't concentrate enough to figure out what it was.

"… the last thing I remember is open space." Amanda took in a sharp breath but otherwise held her silence.

When it became clear Harriet wasn't going to continue, Amanda firmly asked the right question: "then how did you get back onboard the ship?"

"I don't know?" she hazarded. Amanda squeezed her hand just a bit tighter.

"Try again dear."

'But it's the _truth_!'

Harriet opened her eyes a bit more and stared at the ceiling. It was so different than the all encompassing dark of space…

"Hari dear, I don't know what you're not sharing, or why you're so reluctant to share, but you can't keep it all bottled up inside." She paused, searching Hari's face for something, then smiled sadly. "I'm here for you Hari. I _understand_ what it's like to – well, I'm here for you. Do you need anything?"

Harriet sighed. "Is there any coffee?"

Amanda's lips quirked slightly. "No. Dr. McCoy says you need to hydrate. How about some herbal tea instead?"

Harriet shut her eyes in resignation.

* * *

Harriet parked her very low tech wheel chair beside Captain Pike's biobed after being given permission to enter his private room. It wasn't exactly private given all the glass paneling but the door at least shut securely behind her.

"So, this is where he's hiding," she murmured as she spotted one entirely too comfortable looking Smaug.

Pike looked over at the cat sitting on his bedside table. "I wasn't aware there were any pets on board… until recently."

"Nor was I. Ambassador Sarek's wife found him. I'm still not sure how he got here."

Pike raised a tired eyebrow at her, as if to say ' _sure, I believe you_.' She ignored the expression and focused on her rather perplexing cat.

"You asked to see me?" she prompted, after the silence had gone on a bit too long.

"Two other ships survived our initial encounter with Nero, the _Farragut_ and the _Exeter_ , both with heavy losses – but they did survive. More than likely due to your warning. On behalf of Starfleet, I would like to thank you."

"Your gratitude is noted but unnecessary, Captain." She took a deep breath, then released it slowly. "In fact, I'd be much obliged if you never mentioned it again. Ever."

He stared at her for a moment and she noted how haunted his eyes seemed. It was disconcerting but not surprising given he'd effectively been a prisoner of war and likely tortured.

"How did you know? Actually." Harriet blinked at him. He gave her a wry smile. "Despite Spock's best intentions and efforts, it was you who warned him of the coming of some large scale destruction and death before we even received the distress call." His face grew serious again. "How did you know?"

There was something there, something desperate in his voice that called to her. Magically exhausted as she was, her Death sense was still active and there was something … there…

Oh.

_OH_.

"You saw …" Her voice was strangely filled with wonder. "You've been…"

"I saw something, and I'd greatly like to know if it was real."

Harriet's jaw remained slack for a moment before she gathered herself.

"Right, well, that's, hmm." Well, this had gotten quite heavy and quite quickly. "In all seriousness, it can be difficult to keep Their company for long periods of time; I can see why you're so interested in getting answers. However, _I_ can't have this conversation so soon after meeting with It without a coffee. Want one? I'll be right back."

Was she running? Perhaps. What of it? She was tired.

"Harriet." She paused just after she finished wheeling her chair around, somewhat surprised he'd used her first name. "You have my word your explanation will stay between the two of us."

She nodded, then continued out through the doors, officially on a quest for caffeine.

* * *

Spock was on his way to speak with Captain Pike. As he walked, he ruminated on how it was both 'a blessing and a curse' to be more in touch with his human side, and the events, the journey, that had brought him to his current state of understanding regarding Harriet.

It had started innocuously enough: a simple investigation of the unknown. Yet, it had grown and changed him in ways that he had only recently accepted. He supposed that the death and near-death experiences he had lived through in the last twenty-four hours had played a significant role in that acceptance:

He had lost his home world, his home; watched as it was destroyed before his very eyes.

He had nearly lost his mother, a piece of his home; watched her fall to what he had been certain was her death.

He had nearly faced his own mortality; watched as Nero's ship and his own drew closer and their collision grew imminent.

…He had nearly lost Harriet; watched as Mr. Scott furiously tried to lock on to any sign of life after the declaration that they'd lost all trace of her.

Then he had the _Narada_ destroyed and in his grief, he offered no quarter or sympathy. In his grief, he had clung to the desperate needs of the ship to keep him going. And just as that desperation was beginning to wane, and his will to perform began to lag, there had been the call from the transporter room.

After the initial shock, he realized he was too _hopeful_ to be angry with her for making him think she'd been lost along with his home, that he'd nearly lost everything that he now acknowledged he held _close to his_ _heart_.

Had he truly been forced to face her loss, what would he have done, become, after the adrenaline had come under control?

… but what ifs did not often lead the mind down useful paths in life.

Instead, he would focus on what he could actually do and understand. Or seek to understand. What prevented Mr. Scott from being able to lock on? Had Harriet _jumped_?Where did Harriet go when she _jumped_? Why had it taken so long between the _jump_ and her arrival on the _Enterprise_? What were her limits?

Was she human?

Did it bother him either way?

… No. It didn't. Hari was, and always would be, just Hari. And that was more than satisfactory.

He decided that since both Pike and Harriet were in the same medbay, it would not be out of his way to check on Harriet's status before seeing the captain. As Harriet was unconscious when he spoke with McCoy earlier, he assumed the visit would be quick, offering little in the way of answers but, perhaps, much in the way of assurances of her safety and status amongst the living.

And yes, he recognized that there was both a desire and a _need_ for those assurances. For those agonizing minutes he'd thought he'd lost her…

No, Vulcan he may be, but blind to his own emotions he was not. And he had Hari to thank for that.

He entered Central Medical and went to the bed Harriet had been assigned.

Harriet wasn't there.

Quietly, he turned and sought out McCoy.

"Doctor?" he asked, immediately catching McCoy's attention. He didn't need to elaborate – it was clear who he was looking for by his tone of voice.

"Captain Pike asked to speak with her."

He took a breath and nodded his thanks, then altered his course.

If McCoy wasn't worried, then it meant she was well. If she was able to be moved, it meant that she was well. If she was speaking with the captain, it meant that she was well.

'But _how_ well?' his inner voice worried.

Coming upon the glass doors, he immediately noticed the captain's room held only Pike himself and he acknowledged that he was now indeed concerned.

'Where could she have gone?'

Noticing his approach, Pike waved him in.

"Mr. Spock."

"Captain."

They quietly regarded each other for a moment.

"Take a seat Mr. Spock. I would like a general report. But first, I want to know what happened to Harriet."

He remained standing. "I am unaware of her location Captain."

Pike waved his answer away.

"Not what I meant. She claims she was going to get coffee." He was mildly surprised when his shoulders relaxed, not having noticed they'd tensed. Based on the captain's facial expression and slight smile, he inferred that Pike had noticed the release of tension. "She's alive and relatively well Spock. You don't need to hide your concern."

_Hide_ his concern? Since when did a Vulcan _hide_ things that were intangible to begin with?

* * *

Harriet was doing her best not to cry. It was a near thing but she was holding strong!

The darn replicator, however, was not. In fact, it was starting to fritz. Likely because _she_ was on the fritz.

Because really, how was she supposed to process the fact that she'd _died_ , then come back to life, _again_ , WITHOUT traveling to the next reality, dimension, what have you? HOW was she supposed to process the fact that she'd somehow intentionally, unintentionally _chosen_ Spocky Pocky while she was "unconscious" so to speak?

What did that choice even _mean!?_

_Where the HELL was Death when she needed It!_

Okay, so yes, she was reacting rather poorly to the situation. To be fair, however, it was an entirely new situation for her. Traveling to the same reality twice? Sure. Linearly? No. Dying, but not really? Sure. After taking a ride on the 'train'? Nope.

…She was perfectly justified in her struggle to contain herself. And her magic. Which was fritzing. Which was causing the machine to fritz. Which was preventing her from getting her fix.

She'd be reacting so much better right now if she could get her fix.

' _Breathe,_ Harriet. Just take a moment and _breathe.'_

Right. She could do that.

As soon as she figured out what it actually meant to _choose a Spockity Spocktastic life!_

' _DEATH!'_

* * *

There were only so many replicators within immediate reach of Central Medical. Thus, Spock came upon Harriet relatively quickly. He wasn't entirely sure why she was weakly hitting the replicator but he knew it was an action humans sometimes indulged in when they were frustrated with a machine. As such, he approached wearily, hoping, for a reason that defied logic, her frustration would not switch to him.

"Harriet?" he called tentatively.

She turned her head to look at him, eyes wet and body clearly displaying signs of fatigue.

He hesitated, unsure why she would be at the point of lacrimation. "Harriet? Are you well?" Clearly, she was not. Truly, given she should likely still be in her bed, that wasn't entirely unexpected. Still, he felt it prudent to ask rather than state.

She turned her head back to the machine. "No." She sniffed. "It's not working."

He took a closer look at the replicator. Indeed, it was no longer functional. It would explain her distress. If she was seeking comfort by way of her favorite beverage, then having it withheld from her in a perceived time of need would certainly induce an emotional response.

Of all the challenges faced in the last forty-eight hours, this was one problem he could easily solve, a fact that was satisfying in a way he could not quite explain.

"Harriet, I will obtain the coffee for you." He gently took hold of the oddly primitive wheeled chair and turned her back in the direction of her bed. The captain would ask after her, but he could tell she needed rest… and he was feeling oddly protective. "For now, it is best for you to rest."

Why was he speaking so softly? Could she hear him properly?

She 'sniffled' again and said nothing on their way back to her bed. When she was once more settled within it, he couldn't help but take a moment to study her face. It showed clear signs of exhaustion, even with the emotional tearing. But, her eyes, they were still so oddly full of _life_ that he momentarily stopped breathing.

To think, he'd almost lost the ability to ever study her in such a way again.

"Spock?"

He blinked and thought for the first time that he understood what it meant to drown in another's gaze.

"Yes?"

"Do you know where I can get a bit of whiskey?"

He tilted his head in slight confusion. She merely smiled back at him. And, suddenly, he truly understood what his father had been trying to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 4 +1 or four times Harriet really wanted a coffee and that one time she needed a stiff drink
> 
> Fin. I have ideas for other side stories and a possible Into Darkness continuation but right now I just don't have the time...
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
